


The Distance Between Us

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bad Dreams, Bad Yoga, Covid-19 Related, F/M, Home Haircuts, Modern AU, Panic Attacks, Quarantine, Slow Burn, covid-fog, deep clean, lockdown dreams, social distancing, there's only one bed, zoom happy hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 132,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: After days of worrisome travel, Ross Poldark is looking forward to self-isolation. But his situation will only grow more complicated when he gives safe harbor to an unexpected house guest.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Comments: 1299
Kudos: 559





	1. Deep Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Covid-19 related storyline, so if that’s too raw for you, I get it, scroll on by (especially my friends in places with severe lock down protocols). This fic isn't set anywhere in particular. All I can say is that it is not Cornwall and not the US. 
> 
> Inspired by social distancing fanfic prompts courtesy of @jomiddlemarch on tumblr. Chapter one contains: bleach, handshake, home, song, toilet paper, quarantine (soap, social, & kindness implied).

Ross Poldark turned the key in the lock then tossed his case inside ahead of him. He was exhausted. Tired of working fourteen plus hour days, tired of international flights longer than that, and most recently he’d grown tired of worrying about the uncertain state of the world around him. But whatever dangers he’d been exposed to over the past week, he currently showed no signs of illness, and most importantly he was home. Now he could self isolate, pour himself a nice single malt, and just be alone.

He stepped into the hallway of his flat but whatever comfort he might have derived from being in his own space was immediately deflated. The place reeked of citrus and bleach, sharp and cloying smells that tingled in his nose and caught in his throat. The windows in this high rise block only opened a few inches but surely the cleaning woman could have still managed that or thought to air the place out some other way? A fan maybe?

Of course she wouldn’t. Ross hadn’t much faith in Prudie, the woman who’d been cleaning his flat for over a year, and had grown accustomed to her shoddy work. The truth was he felt somewhat sorry for her. On the first day she arrived she spilled her life story--she worked long hours at crap pay to support an alcoholic husband. Ross suspected if he gave her a poor rating with the service who sent her, she might get sacked, so instead he said nothing. To his chagrin they interpreted that to mean he was satisfied and sent her regularly from that point on. But it mattered little. Ross lived alone and was generally a tidy person so there wasn't much she really had to do week to week. In fact he was somewhat surprised she managed to be as thorough as she had today. Then again he had put in a special order with the service for a deep clean.

 _“_ And she’s left the lights on too,” he grumbled. He moved further into the flat and saw they were blazing in all the rooms. That’s when he heard it.

“ _I've been here, there, everywhere_

_Here there nowhere_

_Iszy bitzy witzy itzy everywhere_

_I've been here and I've been there_ …”

A voice, high and sweet was coming from another room. Mostly on key, with only a little wobble on the harmony, that was immediately followed by a giggle then spirited humming. 

Ross followed the song to the small but well-appointed galley kitchen down the hall. That’s when he saw her.

A woman, most certainly not Prudie, was down on her knees, wiping the sparkling tile floor, her backside facing Ross as he stood in the doorway. He felt a tinge of shame that his initial thought was that whoever she was, she had a rather attractive bum, noticeable through the jeans she wore. She had a tangle of red hair twisted back into a loose knot but a few soft curls had escaped and moved when she did. She had earbuds in which is why she hadn't heard him creep up on her but must have sensed she was no longer alone and turned her head with a start.

“Oh!” she said loudly, then promptly lost her balance and fell, the beautiful bum now planted on the wet floor. She yanked an ear bud out and stared up at Ross with wide, scared eyes. He noticed they were the same sparkling blue as the bottle of Windolene she was still holding.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said at once and stepped forward to offer her a hand, then stopped himself. He didn't want to sully her impressive work with his dirty shoes--and he had to get it through his thick skull that hand shaking was absolutely a thing of the past. “I’m Ross Poldark. I live here. I assume the service sent you?” he added, eyeing the red pinny she wore over a long sleeved black t shirt.

“Oh, Mister Poldark,” she said quickly and got to her feet. “So sorry, sir. We weren’t expectin’ you until next Monday,” she said apologetically. “But I’m almost done and I can be out of here shortly…”

“No worries,” he tried to reassure her. “I had to cut my travels short because of the…”

“Yes, of course. Flights are all mostly cancelled I heard. You’re lucky you made it home at all,” she said, apparently no longer terrified he was an intruder. He was glad to see her smile, and curiously felt a warmth wash over him, a light relief that he hadn’t felt in days.

“You’re not Prudie,” he said.

“No, sir, I’m not. She was feelin’ poorly so she was told to stay home,” she explained.

“Prudie’s sick?” he asked, concerned.

“No more than a sniffle. Nothin’ to be worried about, I’m sure.” Now she was reassuring him. “I’m Demelza,” she added.

Ross recognised her accent the more she spoke. It had been a long time since he’d heard such rich Cornish tones, and he felt a homesickness he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your work, Demelza,” he said and managed a smile. “I’m going to unpack and then take a hot shower. That is, if I won’t be in your way?”

“Oh, no sir!” she said brightly. ”I’ve already cleaned the bathroom. _Deep clean_ , just as you requested. And you needn’t fret about running out of loo rolls, Mister Poldark--you’ve got plenty,” she winked playfully.

“Please, call me Ross,” he said. “Being called ‘sir’ just makes me feel old.”

“No one likes to feel old.” 

She’d replied with such a knowing sigh that made Ross curious of her own age. It was hard to gauge. The shapeless pinny would make anyone appear frumpy, though her pretty face--completely free of any makeup--looked young. Perhaps she was a student who also did cleaning to get by. But she’d been listening to Echo and the Bunnymen, which suggested she might be older than he’d initially thought.

“Well it was nice to meet you, _Ross_. Welcome home.” She smiled again and Ross wondered how he might diplomatically arrange to have her as his regular cleaning woman, instead of Prudie.

\----

Still knackered but nevertheless relaxed, Ross walked into the dim living room dressed only in a towel. He regretted leaving wet footprints on the polished floors but at least his bare feet were clean. He was finally alone and ready to bask in the solitude he’d been craving for days. The solitude that was necessary given his potential exposure over the past week. How many conference rooms and airports had he been?

As much as he had enjoyed his brief encounter with the new cleaner, he regretted that he’d had any contact with her under these circumstances. But there was most likely nothing to worry about. She’d been wearing marigolds and he’d kept at least six feet away from her. Still, perhaps he should reach out to let her know the risks all the same. Would the cleaning service even give him her number? Most likely not but they could pass on a message.

He’d been around countless airport security agents as well, and then there was the taxi driver--why did Demelza feel different to him? Was it that they were nameless or that he’d met her in his own home? 

He poured the whisky he’d also been craving but before he took a sip, he heard his mobile buzz. In such a quiet space, it sounded louder than usual.

 _Damn! This is getting very real, very fast,_ he thought when he saw the message that had scrolled across his screen. He took a drink, only now it wasn’t a sip but a hearty slug meant to offer some courage.

Then the doorbell rang, and the silence was shattered yet again. It was unexpected and unwanted. He didn’t relish the idea of having to dress or see anyone. Well, whomever was calling would not be invited in. He was unwavering on that score.

Ross pushed the button on the video intercom system and was surprised, and also a little pleased to see just who had rung.

“Demelza!” he said and threw open the door without hesitation. So much for his resolution.

“I’m sorry, Mister Poldark..erm, Ross, so sorry!” She was near tears. He stepped aside to allow her in, carefully maintaining his distance.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” he asked, wishing he could touch her arm or even hold her hand to offer consolation. She was clearly distressed.

“The Underground. And the buses,” she began breathlessly. “All public transport has been shut down, and I...I don't have any way to get home. I was gonna start walkin’ but it’s so far, it would take hours. And then the streets were so empty and I just felt really...unsafe. I didn't know what else to do, where else to go...” Her voice wobbled and her eyes were wet.

“No, no. It was the right thing to do. Come in, please,” he said, then suddenly grew aware that he was wearing just the towel. That didn't seem to faze her though, she’d been so rattled, caught off guard by how suddenly things had shifted. And he had other news to share with her, another turn of the screw.

“Demelza, you are welcome to stay here. Well, I mean you _have to_ stay here. There’s just been a declaration. We’ve all just been asked to stay home. Required in fact. All of us are..”

“Like under house arrest?” she cried.

“Quarantined.” 

“Oh,” she said, still reeling from the shock. 

“There’s only one bedroom--and only the one bed--but you can have the sofa,” he offered. “I need to be honest with you. I’ve just come from the States--the west coast--and so as a precaution I’ll need to keep away from you.”

She said nothing but bit her lip as she puzzled out her next move.

“But then again, you of all people know the flat is clean,” he tried laughing.

“Well, then,” she said finally. “I’d better go wash my hands.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this fic comes from Rilke (“Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky”). Readers who have read other stufff of mine may recall I have a thing for Rilke.
> 
> “Do It Clean” by Echo And The Bunnymen ℗ 1980 Warner Music UK Ltd  
> You can listen to this little gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjbTCI8o0X4


	2. Chicken Soup: Part I

Ross rolled over and stretched his long body across the width of the bed. It had felt so good to sink into the mattress the night before. _His_ mattress, _his_ pillows, _his_ sheets. And as he expected, he’d sleep like a log. Over years of traveling for work, he’d gotten better--he’d learned from necessity--to fall asleep in strange hotel rooms but it still took awhile. Last night, he must have been out the second his head hit his pillow for he had no memories of a struggle. For a moment, in his half-sleeping state, he had no memories at all.

Then he smelled it.

Someone was making fresh coffee in another part of the flat. Slowly his eyes opened and he began to recall the strange reality he was now inhabiting. No, he wasn’t alone, and as much as he had been reveling in his own bed, there was a young woman--a stranger he needed to remind himself--who was camped out on his sofa because she’d been stranded.

 _Just how is this going to work?_ he wondered.

He pulled some pajama bottoms over his bare body and opened the bedroom door.

“Good mornin’, Ross Poldark,” Demelza said brightly. “That’s for you.” She pointed to a steaming mug of black coffee she’d set on the floor in the hallway. Last night they had vaguely divided up the flat--he’d take ownership of the bedroom, she could spread out in the living room. The kitchen and bathroom would need to be shared space but they could at least take turns using them and the long hallway between--“No Man’s Land”--would be divided in half. She must have paced out exactly where his territory began and placed the mug without stepping beyond his border.

“You did this?” He reached down and lifted it with an incredulous brow and a light smile he could not contain. This woman had good instincts.

“You’ll have to take it black--the only milk you have looked a bit dodgy--but I can get you sugar if you’d like? I saw you had instant too but figured we’d better save that for...later.”

“No, this is perfect. I just picked it up in Seattle--I’d intended it as a present for my cousin, Verity,” he explained.

“Oh Ross!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I should have asked.”

“No worries, Demelza. No doubt it will be some time before I see her again. She lives in Portugal and with borders being what they are…”

“But I see now I should have waited for you to get up. I didn't mean to be presumptuous, riflin' through your things. It was in the cupboard and…”

“Really, it’s fine, Demelza.”

“I just wanted to do somethin' nice to repay your kindness, Ross,” she said with a sort of innate flirtiness--cocked head, soft voice, wide eyes, arms demurely crossed over her slim chest. 

He wondered if this was a routine she’d perfected over the years--sleeping in strange men's flats then seductively making them coffee in the morning? It was a wicked thought and he shook his head as if to dislodge it from his mind. He did not know her and even if he did, he had no business to judge her. She was just being friendly. The days of people pointing accusatory fingers and questioning one another’s choices, were in the past. Humanity would have to pull together in a new way.

“It was a kind gesture. And you owe me nothing,” he said and took a deep sip to demonstrate his sincerity. She’d used the cafetière and brewed the dark roast expertly. “Besides, it won't do to have you tip toeing around like a houseguest since I can't really be the proper host. You were right to fend for yourself. Now tell me you poured a cup for yourself?”

He may have winked. He certainly had not intended to but over the years he’d perfected certain facial expressions he used without thinking. Winks, sidewise glances, nods, smiles, and of course the coup de grâce--when he allowed a slight tip of the tongue peeking out between his teeth. He used these mostly with women but not exclusively. His cousin affectionately called them “social lubricants” and they worked. When he wasn’t being sullen or brooding, Ross Poldark could, on occasion, pass for charming.

“I did,” Demelza said and held her mug aloft and smiled back at him. Whether his well-honed look had done its trick or if she was just relieved to be absolved of any inadvertent trespass, he couldn’t say. She had quite a powerful smile herself that spread across her whole face and revealed her gleaming white teeth. But it was her smiling eyes that struck Ross. It wasn’t just their colour but their brightness, like she’d some inner spark that could not be doused. Not even in trying times. She leaned casually against the wall at her end of the hallway and took a drink of coffee. 

She seemed at home.

“We should figure out a system for the kitchen,” he said, trying not to stare at her. “Perhaps we shouldn't share dishes…”

“I washed my hands before I touched your cup,” she said quickly then gave his words a little more thought. “I once cleaned for a family that kept kosher. They had two separate sets of dishes--I suppose it can be done,” she said. “And I don’t need much.”

“Well that's the other news. I'm afraid we don’t have much,” he sighed. “In terms of food that is. And now the shops are all closed.” He’d forgotten this detail last night. He’d had no appetite so thoughtlessly he’d offered her nothing before he’d left her alone with a pile of sheets and the only extra blanket he had.

“Even when they were open their shelves were mostly empty,” she said. “But you know you got a delivery while you were gone?”

“Did I? I must have forgotten to cancel it this week. That may be the first good thing that’s happened in days.”

Since he worked long hours Ross had a standing delivery of groceries to the flat that he ordered online. Just the basics really but it was easier than trying to find an open shop when he dragged himself home late. He wasn’t sure what this said about him. Sure it was convenient but did it also signal he was lazy? Indulgent? Caught up in the instant gratification of modern life? It was certainly one more way he’d eliminated contact with other humans in such a huge city. To his credit he once did try to have Prudie do the shopping but that hadn’t gone well at all. She ignored half his list and then insisted he hadn’t left her enough money.

“Arrived yesterday so I put it all away before I started cleanin’. Well, let's see how we can make it last. I know you weren't plannin’ for two…”

“There’s much that is uncertain,” he replied. He meant it as a reassurance but it had come out a grave reminder of the unknowns before them.

\----

“Demelza? Did you clean the bathroom again?” Ross called out. 

“Yes, I did. Is everythin’ alright?” She popped her head around the corner from the living room looking concerned.

“It’s fine--more than fine--it’s absolutely immaculate. I just don't want you to think you have to…”

“Ross, I’m just tryin’ to earn my keep. I took a shower and thought I should cover my tracks. You said we need to be cautious…”

“Just so we’re clear, I am capable of cleaning as well. And I really don’t expect anything from you,” he said.

“Are you seriously denyin' me the chance to show my _professional expertise_?” Once again her laugh lightened the mood in the otherwise grim flat.

“You changed your clothes?” he noticed suddenly. She’d traded her jeans for grey leggings and the t-shirt she now wore was pink. He hadn’t expected pink to be a colour that worked well for a ginger but somehow it did.

“Yes, I happened to have my gym bag with me, so that was lucky,” she said, “but I may still need to borrow a few things?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. Look, I have a conference call in ten minutes that I’ll need to attend to but after that, I‘ll do more research on just what precautions we should take. I mean, how vigilant must one be when sharing a space with another.” _A rather small space_ , he thought.

“I’d like to help with that but speakin’ of things I need, you don’t happen to have a mobile charger?” She held up her darkened mobile and frowned.

“Android? No, not anymore. But I do have a spare tablet you can use. Just clean it first. They say the surfaces of our mobiles and devices are quite filthy.”

He went into the bedroom and returned with an iPad that he slid across the hallway floor to her. She stopped it with her bare foot before it slammed into the wall, then bent over the screen attentively with a sanitising wipe.

“How’d you manage to get a hold of those? I thought the shops were all sold out?” he asked, spying her precious commodity. “Oh, right, _professional expertise_.”

“Normally I hate these things--they aren’t environmentally friendly--but under the circumstances...Okay, looks good. Can you share your wifi password?”

“Fuck…” he groaned and realised he had no choice. “D@rklord1983.” He grimaced, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh Ross, that’s brilliant. That’s fucking brilliant!” She snorted with laughter. “I suppose it could be worse. I remember my first online moniker was _iluvweezer1212_.”

“Weezer?”

“Go make your call, Ross, and I’ll see what I can find out for us.”

\---

Once Ross had started his video conference he realised what a mistake it had been to give Demelza the living room. Sure, he’d get a better night’s sleep in his own bed than were he on the sofa, but now he had to do all his remote work and conferencing from this space. The room was too cramped for a desk or chair, and besides the bed there was room only for a dresser and three tall bookshelves that lined the wall opposite the window. 

He’d made it a point to clean himself up for this video call--he’d even shaved--but the effect would be lost if he was lounging against a pile of pillows. Well, it was too late now.

An hour later he rang off with a list of tasks to be completed, and an even longer list of tasks to be postponed until the office could reopen, as well as scores of unanswered questions.

Then he smelled it. It was an experience similar to when he first woke that day and just as welcome. Someone was making something--something delicious--in the kitchen.

“Demelza?” he called and flung his door open. “What is that…?”

“That Ross, is chicken soup. You had a half-eaten rotisserie chicken in your fridge and now we have a whole pot of soup. Or we will eventually--it has to simmer a bit.”

“That’s from days ago--was it safe to eat?”

“Yes, it’s fine but just barely. Tomorrow we'd need to bin it. And our peasant ancestors would turn in their graves if we’d let it go to waste. I’m rather sure half of our favourite recipes originated in times of want when folks had to scrape. Oh, but then you probably didn't come from such common stock as me!” she laughed.

“My ancestors might have been landowners but they were cash poor and probably knew how to stretch a shilling until it squealed. Thank you, Demelza, for such clever thinking. When will it be ready?”

“Oh it's not for today. In my researchin’ how to stay safe and healthy, I read--thanks to your iPad, _Mr. Darklord_ ,” she snickered, “that to prepare for times gettin’ worse, one should make soup now and freeze for later. We’re lucky you have such a large refrigerator for a single man livin’ alone.”

Ross laughed and shook his head.

“You know, Demelza,” he said and leaned against the bathroom door frame across from the kitchen, “as fucked as this whole scenario is, we’ve identified quite a few things to be grateful for today.”

“Oh and it most likely will get more fucked too!” she laughed. “But you’re right, Ross,” she added softly. “We may well be the lucky ones.”

  
  



	3. Friend Request

Ross woke to a stiff back and a pain in his left calf. He stretched as best he could then sighed, accepting that he wouldn’t be able to do much to truly alleviate his muscle aches. It was days now since he’d been to the gym. Even when he was in Seattle he’d been able to get in a run on the hotel treadmill. What he wouldn't give to be able to walk--even just a few blocks.

He hadn't pulled the blinds but the only window faced west and so the room wasn't overly flooded with morning sunlight. In fact most nights he didn't bother to pull the blinds at all. Being on the 20th floor meant he had a certain sense of privacy and needn't worry about the neighbours peeping in. The building opposite was an office block and the lights were usually off and its inhabitants long since on their way home when Ross was undressing for bed.

It was a bold habit--especially since he preferred to sleep in the nude--but one he had grown accustomed to over the years and no longer really questioned. He was used to being alone and not having to think about others at all.

 _Well things sure have changed,_ he laughed to himself. More alone in some ways--isolated, cut off from the outside world, trapped inside--yet sharing his private-most space with another.

He pulled on his pajama bottoms and hoped he could make it to the bathroom without his new flatmate spotting his massive morning erection. But when he stepped into the hallway he was met with an eerie quiet.

Usually, even this far up, he could hear the bustling of the city--lorries, taxis, cars pounding the roads all day and all night. This morning there was nothing. Everything was still. He walked to the window in the kitchen and confirmed his suspicions. The streets below were completely abandoned. It reminded him of a painting he once saw--di Chirico maybe.

He listened again--a faint sound--and moved into the hallway to investigate. It was Demelza’s rhythmic breathing as she slept. A little raspy but not a snore. He was glad she’d been able to sleep on the sofa two nights running now. He wouldn't have been able to; it was cramped and narrow, it’s leather upholstery creaked every time a body moved. But she hadn’t yet complained. She’d been such a good sport about this whole thing

This morning he’d make coffee for her, perhaps as a gesture of gratitude for her easy-going attitude. He’d lucked out to end up with such a stranger. His mind raced through a list of his family members and colleagues who he’d dread sheltering with. And even though her being there restricted him further, to only half of an already small flat, maybe in the end it was better than being entirely alone. Ross shook his head. There was no need to even wonder about that since, in fact, he had no choice.

Ross padded softly back to the kitchen and washed his hands, then switched on the kettle. He was pleased to see there were beans already ground from the day before so he needn’t wrestle with the grinder and possibly wake Demelza. Besides, the fewer items in the room he touched the better. He put on a pair of oven mitts before he poured the water into the cafetiere then wiped down the handle of the kettle with a soapy dish sponge. No, a cloth would have been better, wouldn’t it? Sponges harboured all sorts of germs, he’d read. He binned the sponge and hoped he hadn't made any other errors.

He rifled around for a few packets of sugar he suspected might be in one of the drawers and while it was hard to maneuver with the bulky mitts, he finally found what he was looking for amongst a jumble of matchbooks and wine corks. He couldn't even recall if she took sugar--she hadn’t said, had she?--but he wanted to be responsive just in case. Quietly he loaded the cup and the coffee pot on a tray, and stepped into the dim hallway.

 _Jesus, Poldark!_ he chastised himself when he realised what he’d done now. While one track in his brain was trying to both balance the tray and estimate where the imaginary line of Demelza’s territory began, another part--perhaps it was sleepy or just acting autonomically--had delivered him all the way over the threshold of the living room. He was so used to moving about in his own place and could do so in the dark. He knew how many paces it took to get from the front door to the sofa, from his bed to the toilet.

But now his spectacular act of idiocy shook him and the tray nearly dropped from his mitted grasp. He caught himself, took a few careful steps backwards, and quickly laid the tray down in the hallway.

The living room was the only room besides the kitchen that didn't have a door--he'd had it removed when he first moved in to give the otherwise cramped flat a more open feel. Now he regretted this decision for it meant there was nothing to screen his view from the body lying on the sofa.

The blanket that Demelza had wrapped around herself must have gaped when she rolled over in her sleep, for her bare bum was nearly fully exposed. 

It seemed Ross’s house guest preferred to sleep in the nude as well.

Ross looked away at once but not before he’d already caught an eyeful. However he’d admired her body the day they first met, he was further in awe of the actual flesh now freed from the confinement of clothing. Such beautiful curves, such smooth skin. She resembled a painting--Ingres’ _Odalisque_ perhaps? 

It was the second time that morning that his mind had wandered to art. He would have wondered what that meant--what it said about himself as a person--but instead felt an intense self-loathing growing in his belly.

He hated himself at once for ogling her like this. She deserved privacy and had every right to expect he’d stay on his side of the line. And just because her body was lovely--good god it was lovely--didn't mean it was there for him to gaze upon. He shuffled quickly down the hallway and closed the bathroom door, uncomfortably aware that his erection had returned.

\-----

“Ross,” Demelza said. “I have a suggestion and I'm afraid you are not going to like it.” They were sitting at opposite ends of the hallway eating a lunch she'd prepared. It was ramen from a packet but she’d added mushrooms and cabbage and other odd bits of veg she’d found withering in his fridge. She’d also perfectly cooked an egg for each of them and the soft insides oozed out into the tangy broth lending a special richness. Ross was sure there were trendy noodle shops just up the road that would charge a pretty penny for such a bowl--and they had nothing on her. 

“What is it?” he asked, trying to read her expression from a distance. It had been her idea to drag the kitchen chairs into the hallway. That way when they ate they need not be completely isolated. It made for an odd set up--almost humourous--but then again just what counted as normal manners these days?

“Well, perhaps I'd better be the sole captain of the kitchen. I mean let me do all the cookin’ and washin’ up and that way it's one less thing you need to worry about.”

“I have been known to cook before,” he said and hoped it didn't sound defensive.

“I’m sure that’s true. I can tell by your cookware and expensive knives. And you have dried lemongrass in your cupboard so you know your way around a stove!” she reassured him. “Oh, but then if I did take over the kitchen, you’d have even less space, wouldn't you? And in your own flat?”

“That doesn't concern me. It's that I'd be taking advantage of you, asking you to cook for us both,” he said. “This ramen, by the way, is amazing. You are certainly a master at soups.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she replied. And now, even from twenty feet away, he saw she was beaming with pride at the compliment.

“Let me think about it,” he said.

She bit her lip to contain a laugh as though she knew he'd already made up his mind but was just too stubborn to admit it.

Yet if he stayed away from the kitchen it would be one more way he could potentially keep her safe and less exposed. Really what choice did he have?

“Ross?” she asked, while inelegantly slurping a long noodle. “What is it that you do? I mean for your job? They all sure seem to need a lot of you.” She nodded towards the bedroom where he’d already had three conference calls that day.

“I’m senior management--actually the president---of a small firm, Grace Energy,” he said then stopped, considering how to succinctly describe his job.

“Sounds important and oddly elegant,” she said. 

“Grace was my mother’s name,” he laughed.

“What kind of...energy?”

“Well my family was into mining years ago--minerals--then my uncle made the move into your standard dirty fossils fuels. But my father, the family rebel, founded a small company, that explored clean alternatives. Mostly solar--and this was back in the day when solar was new.”

“Oh, so he was a pioneer!” She tipped her bowl up to her mouth and slurped the last bits of broth. Ross appreciated that she had a hearty appetite but worried that perhaps in the days to come, he would not be able to keep her satisfied.

“It was also clunky--the panels were huge and expensive--and inefficient. It was not exactly profitable. When he died…”

“Ross, I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Thank you but it’s been almost six years since he died. When I inherited his business, and his debts, I made some changes. Now we don't manufacture or install anything. I’m more like a consultant. Say you were a business with property and wanted your own solar array. Well, I’d connect you to the right contractors and help draft the power purchase agreements so you could have the array but not be liable for its upkeep. You’d have all your electrical needs met cleanly and save money but wouldn't actually own the panels or the energy they produced outright. Another company would and they’d profit from your output as well.”

“So you're like a fixer? Connectin' people?”

“Yes, and my team of solicitors negotiate the legal end of the contracts….I’m sorry, this is all terribly boring. You must regret you asked.”

“Must I?” She raised a brow. “So then is this work that goes on even if we’re all on lock-down?”

“I suppose we shall see. I've spent most of my time over the past few days just assuaging people’s fears--as if I have any answers and don't have fears myself.”

“I'm sure you helped.”

“Demelza, what do you...I mean, is cleaning your full time job?”

“Well it is now!” she laughed and placed her empty bowl on the floor beside her. “No, I do it part time. Mostly I’m a student--well, I was a student until three days ago.”

A student. So his initial impression had been correct. But he still had no clue how old she was. He supposed he could ask.

“I thought everyone was scrambling to get courses online,” he said.

“I was set to start my teachin' practice in a few weeks but that will need to get postponed for months. Those who were scheduled ahead of me will need to finish theirs first and I’ll most likely not get another spot until autumn.”

“Teaching? What kind?”

“Oh, the little ones. Kindergarten age.”

“I would think that would require amazing patience. They'd be proper terrors--messy and loud.”

“I've already shown you I have great skill for clearin’ others’ messes,” she laughed. “No, they’re only loud because they have so much to say and are eager to share their ideas with you. And because they have so many ideas, all the time, everythin' is urgent to them. You just have to get in sync with their timin’ and need to know how to listen and show you care. “

“Then I take back what I just said. You'd no doubt be brilliant at it.” He meant it. He’d never heard the mind of a small child explained so sensitively but it made perfect sense. “Is it difficult then--working and going to school?” he asked.

“I made it work and only cleaned a few days a week. Maybe I'd feel more knackered after I did my practice and have to rethink it all. I was really fortunate, though, and got a placement not too far from my flat. I was goin’ to be able to walk to work,” she said, almost dreamily, then snapped back. “Oh well.”

“And cleaning, well is it…?” He didn't finish his question once he realised he was asking her if her job was dreadful.

“The service is really wonderful about my schedulin’ so it hasn’t been that bad. And I know it's not glamorous but the hours are better than restaurants or bars. I have some mates who've got jobs as ‘ _dancers_ ’ and ‘ _escorts_ ’. Not only is that dodgy business but also shit hours.”

“And not exactly safe,” he added quickly. Safety was very much on his mind today.

“Yes, tell me about it. The way I see it, if I have to go into a stranger’s home and scrub his toilet, at least most of the time he’s not even home. Better than showin’ up at a hotel to give some bloke a wank--equally as disgustin’ as a toilet sometimes--and then worry that he might kill me.”

“Sometimes?” he asked clumsily, then regretted how it came out. It wasn't his business if she was straight or gay.

“Oh, I like men, in case that’s what you’re askin’, just not those who pay for sex!” She hadn't been bothered by his question.

“And now you are here…”

“Are you askin’ for a wank?” she laughed but it caught him so off guard he almost choked on his soup.

“No! I meant you seem to trust that...trust that I won’t…” He was flustered now.

“Yes, yes I’m trustin’ you aren't going to kill me, Ross,” she chuckled.

“But why? How do you know you can trust me?”

“Well you’d be a shit killer, Ross! The way you’ve been fussin’ over my comfort and frettin’ about not exposin’ me to illness? You wouldn’t do that _before_ you strangle me or whatever. But no! Maybe you're just waitin’ and have some sort of long term plan to torture me first…” she laughed. “No, sorry Poldark, I think you seem kind and honest.” 

“Maybe you’re just wishing I am.”

“I suppose I've always been a hopeful person. But it's hard now, isn't it? You want to be hopeful but you can’t hide from some truths.”

“No, you can’t.”

“And how do you know when your hope is just self-delusion? Still...for whatever reason, maybe just habit, I’m feelin’ pretty hopeful.” 

“How so?”

“Things are uncertain but they could be worse. You could have turned me out on the street. Or shared a flat with a family of seven. Or been some pompous fascist prick!” 

“No, I suppose I'm not a killer nor a fascist.” It did make things easier that she seemed to trust him. “Demelza, without your mobile, do you need to ring anyone? Tell them you’re safe? You can use mine if you need to…”

“No, that’s okay. I emailed my flatmate and my landlady. And then went back on Facebook and sent a message to my brothers. I haven't used Facebook in years--almost forgot my password, mine wasn't so _memorable_ as yours.” She stared him down, pursing her lips again trying to contain the laugh that was building inside her. She was never going to let him live this down.

“Okay, Demelza, can you honestly tell me you never had a nickname?” he said, teasing her back.

“Oh loads. Usually some play on ‘ginger’ but sadly, there are some rather unpleasant words that rhyme with ‘ginge’. I learned that the hard way!”

“I’ve been told by my younger colleagues that Facebook is for old people,” he said.

“Do you have a…” she asked, then blushed as if she realised she’d implied he was old.

“Yes, I do. To keep in contact with my relatives mostly. Liking a photo every so often is far easier than ringing them. Or seeing them.”

In recent days his cousin’s wife--who also happened to be Ross’s former fiancee--had been posting photo after photo to show how smoothly and cleverly she'd been homeschooling her son, Geoffrey Charles. Curled up together reading by the fire, baking biscuits then using them for a maths lesson, painting replicas of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ using home-made finger paints. But Ross sensed it was all a facade and that the more images she shared of her picture perfect life, in reality things were unraveling fast. Geoffrey Charles had a devilish streak and Ross doubted Elizabeth’s husband, Francis, was any help at all. Was he even at home? He’d found lots of reasons not to be recently.

Francis and Elizabeth Poldark seemed to have a bit of a chill between them over the past few months but Ross was not privy to any of the details. He could ask Verity, Francis’s sister, if he really cared. But he didn't. At least it meant Elizabeth no longer shared endless pictures of her and Francis cuddling, nauseatingly tagged _#datenight_ and # _gettingFrizziewithit._

Still he wondered if he should try to reach out to the other Poldarks to see how they were faring. He resolved to at least ring Verity that evening.

“I'm rubbish at all my social media,” Demelza sighed. “I'd rather be out doin’! I don't update enough, I have no patience for Twitter, and Instagram just seems so staged. But I suppose it's good we have them, now of all times,” she reconsidered. 

“Well, you‘ll need to keep yourself entertained I'm afraid,” he replied.

“Yes! I've been watchin' lots of videos--and not all mindless. Wait! Let me show you this one.” She leapt up and went back to the living room and emerged with the ipad. “Okay, let’s see if I can get close enough for you to see it.” She plopped herself at the border of the hallway and held the screen up. Ross could only partially make out what she was showing him but played along.

“It's a bonded pair of penguins that they let wander ‘round in an empty aquarium. Isn’t it charmin’?”

“Yes...” he smiled.

“I can send you the link if you want to watch it more closely,” she shrugged.

“Just what does it mean to be bonded?” he asked.

“It's a term for animals but can mean a few things. Could be a matin' pair in a species that usually isn't known for monogamy but who stick together over the seasons anyway. But it needn’t be the same sex or even the same species. It could just mean they are good friends. Sometimes dogs and cats bond. My neighbour had a pair of bonded golden retrievers--unrelated males--who just were good friends. Then one died and the other moaned for days until he finally died too. That was sad.”

“The downside of such bonding I suppose.”

“Well, it's all chemical in the end. Dopamine and oxytocin and neurotransmitter receptors in the reward center of the brain workin’ to condition partnership.”

“Ouch that’s clinical.”

“Don’t you ever wonder why some folks are fine on their own and others need life long connections?”

He did. Often in fact and was afraid he'd told himself he was one sort of person when really he was the other.

“Well, Demelza,” he said, changing the subject. “Since you have the television in the living room and can also watch any films you'd like.”

“But what about you?”

“I can stream things on my laptop. And I have all the books in my room, so let me know if you'd like to borrow any.”

“That would be great, Ross. Pick one for me, would you? I also seem to have the speakers. Let me know if you want me to play any music for you.”

“It’s a deal, Demelza.”

He put down his bowl and went into his bedroom scanning the shelves. What might she enjoy? He still didn't really know her tastes or interests that well. He’d need to ask her more questions about herself. Despite everything, he found he liked talking to her. She was light and funny but also really smart. He hadn’t realised how her positive outlook was keeping him going.

Maybe something meaningful like Dostoevsky? Or thrilling like Raymond Chandler? Suddenly he was overthinking the whole thing. He grabbed three books and returned to the hallway just as an electric guitar rang out from the living room.

“ _Darling, you got to let me know_

_Should I stay or should I go?_

_If you say that you are mine_

_I'll be here 'til the end of time_

_So you got to let me know_

_Should I stay or should I go?”_

He almost told her to turn it down in consideration for the neighbours, then realised he’d heard nothing of them the past few days. Normally he heard murmurs through the wall, water running in pipes, footsteps in the hallway, the ping of the elevator. He wondered if they were hunkered in their own flats or had fled elsewhere. How would he know? He’d never spoken to any of them.

“You’ve got eclectic taste,” she called, then when she saw she could barely hear herself let alone his reply, she popped back into the living room to adjust the volume. 

“Good choice and thematically fitting.” He nodded his head along trying to signal his enjoyment.

“Oh but just wait! I’ve got all of London Calling cued up next--Lost in The Supermarket? Clampdown? Train in Vain?” 

He laughed a deep chuckle that rang out over the music.

“Here,” he said, and slid the books one by one down to her end of the hall. She caught the first two with her foot--she was getting good at that--while another slid right past her through the door frame.

“Goal!” he cried.

“Not until confirmed by the VAR,” she said with any eye roll. Then she picked up one of the books in front of her and laughed loudly. “Speakin’ of thematic! _Love in the Time of Cholera!_ Oh brilliant, Ross! Brilliant!”

\----

“Ross, is it okay if I shut the music off?" Demelza called to him. “I know it’s not that late but I’m gettin’ sleepy.”

“Of course. I’ll shut my door so the light won’t bother you.” 

They’d spent the bulk of the afternoon reading and listening to the absurdly appropriate playlist Demelza had put together for them. Around six they ate a pleasant dinner of fried rice then went back to their opposite ends of the flat. Occasionally one might shout some thought out to the other but both were also content to be quiet, engaged in their own pursuits.

It seemed a comfortable enough routine they might settle into--but for how long? This had really only been day two.

“Ross?” Demelza called again. “Look out your window. To the left.”

“You mean west?”

“Yes...do you see it?”

A crescent moon, waning but still visible and surprisingly brilliant, was hung perfectly in the small patch of dark sky visible between the high rise buildings. 

“I do. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Good night, Ross.”

“Good night, Demelza.”

Ross closed his door and settled back in his bed. After a few seconds of staring blankly at the page before him, he gave up and set his book aside. On a whim he opened his laptop to check his Facebook, then laughed.

He had a new Friend Request--from someone who called herself ‘Gingerbeast’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can watch the penguins here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YfcvxhqJ2uE
> 
> I know I’ve used “Should I Stay or Should I go” in a previous fic but had to go with it again here. And do check out London Calling if you need a good soundtrack for our times. You can listen to it here: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XN7iEFVLf5c&list=PLkLimRXN6NKzoSccJhADNW42Ayxf7mYwF 
> 
> (London Calling (Remastered) · The Clash, ℗ 2013 Sony Music Entertainment UK Limited)


	4. Dark Places

Ross breathed deeply then pulled her warm body close to his chest. She’d been lying with her back to him and now he spooned her, snaking one arm under her waist and draping the other across her smooth shoulder. No, that still wasn't close enough. He folded his arm across her breast and buried his face into her neck. With each breath, he could almost taste her skin and the fine curls at the base of her head rose and fell as he exhaled. She murmured a soft sound--a purr that grew louder, almost like a small motor--and without turning to him, whispered his name. 

“Ross,” she said. ”Ross…”

She bucked ever so slightly and he could feel the firm flesh of her backside pressing against his iron length. But it was her face, her ears, her cheeks that interested him now. He put his nose to her soft red hair and inhaled.

She smelled of bleach.

Ross shot up in the bed, alarmed at how vivid--how sensory--the dream had been and looked around the lonely room. For once, he had pulled the blinds the night before so he had no idea of the time. It was dark but also starting to feel very small and close. He’d need to open the windows today and pray the place could be adequately aired out.

He laid back down and pulled his pillow close to his chest. A very poor consolation.

 _God damn it!_ he thought to himself. Why did he have to complicate things? Where had these images come from and how could he purge them from his waking mind? If ever there was a time to draw on his well-honed self discipline, it was now. He was not looking forward to another long day. Alone. 

Alone with her.

“Ross?” This time it really was Demelza’s voice and it wasn't bleach he smelled but coffee. He rose and went to the door, rubbing his stubbly chin. 

“Your coffee is waiting at the ‘Maginot Line’,” she called. “Hope the grinder didn't wake you. We both slept late.” There was something different about her voice today. Her words were cheering enough but the tone lacked its usual brightness. She was weary--and why shouldn't she be?

Ross tried to cut through his own gloom to at least flash her a smile of gratitude. She leaned against the wall, dressed in a pair of his plaid pajama bottoms and a long sleeved t-shirt, he’d also lent her. He could make out the dark shadow of her nipple through the white shirt which did nothing to lift his mood.

“How did you sleep?” he thought to ask, looking away quickly.

“In truth? Not so well.”

“Oh?” Maybe she’d had disturbing dreams too.

“It’s not the sofa, don’t worry about that,” she quickly. “I just kept wakin' up thinkin’ stupid thoughts.”

“Stupid?”

“Anxious ones, I suppose.”

“Of course. That’s to be expected, Demelza. Are you worried about your family?” he asked.

“Well, my brothers are idiots. They don't get the seriousness of this at all. They keep sayin’ things like ‘Well I'm not at risk so I won’t get sick’, not seeing how they could be transmitters. They’d been takin’ advantage of low fares and foolishly goin’ on holiday these last few weeks. At least now they are grounded and have no choice ‘bout the matter.”

“And your parents?”

“My mother died when I was six--and my father? Hell, I think the kindest way I could describe our relationship is _estranged_.”

“Oh I'm sorry. On both scores.”

“I'm sorry my mother is dead too but cuttin’ my father out of my life was the best and most important decision I ever made,” she said. Her eyes were sparking but with an intensity that Ross found almost frightening. He resolved to never make her angry. If he could.

“But my brothers tell me old Tom Carne is just fine, fit as fiddle, even though he has all manner of health problems from smokin’ and years and years of drinkin’.”

 _Carne_. So that was her surname. He’d never asked.

“It’s too bad, really. If one good thing could come of all this, it would be if he would just…” she continued.

“Don't say it,” Ross said abruptly. “Don’t--no matter what you are thinking, you won't be able to take it back if you say it aloud.” Over the years he’d learned a few things about controlling his impulses. Now he flashed her a kind smile and looked at her with wide dark eyes. It seemed enough to catch her and pull her back. She’d been careening towards the edge of some black place--it was a dangerous business.

“Any conference calls today?” she asked and looked him up and down. She’d already seen his hairy bare feet--no use trying to hide those from her now. He imagined his hair was standing on end as it often did first thing in the morning. He’d better get used to it growing longer--he wouldn't be seeing his barber anytime soon. He also suspected he’d have a rather decent beard in just a few days time if he stopped shaving now.

“No, Demelza, it’s the weekend.”

“So it is Ross,” she said and shook her head. “I'd better get a grip. It’s far too early in this to fall apart, isn’t it?. Don't they suggest prisoners in solitary keep track of the days to stay sane?”

“I suppose. You’re welcome to start carving notches on the wall if it helps,” he said and she smiled. 

“Perhaps I should befriend a spider for companionship?” She forced a laugh.

Ross thought again about the casual gestures he’d throw around his whole life. Handshakes, high fives, arms around someone’s shoulders at a football match. Touching people lightly on the arm to punctuate a common understanding was a favourite of his, and he did it to everyone really. A fellow at a bar, the hapless boy, Jim, who worked in his office sometime, the woman who sold him his beer at the shops, even Prudie on the occasions they met. He’d always been rather physical and the last few days had been a lesson in restraint.

This would be one of those times he’d have liked to use touch to communicate. A gentle rub on Demelza’s arm would accomplish more than any words he’d just spoken. That is, of course, if she welcomed it. Ross liked to think of himself as enlightened and was conscious of who he touched and where on their bodies. But maybe he had been overdoing it and others saw him as grabby? Perhaps he’d better change his ways permanently.

There was no point continuing these musings. He had at least eleven more days, more if he were truly prudent, before he could get that close enough to touch Demelza Carne anyway.

\----

Ross stared into the mirror and wasn't sure he liked what he saw. His eyes were dark, his face grey and lined. He’d need to make a decision one way or the other on the beard. If he shaved now he’d be making a commitment to keep that up all week. Whereas if he allowed just a weekend’s worth of growth, he may have something he could groom into presentable shape by Monday. Or he could just say “Fuck it” and do all his remote meetings with audio only. 

He sighed. The beard was the least of his worries. Based on everything he’d been reading, sharing a bathroom with Demelza was a bigger concern than he’d first thought. He tried to limit his visits, then furiously wiped down all the surfaces afterwards like it was a crime scene and he was removing fingerprints, blood, DNA. He wished he could do more.

Demelza was waiting for him when he emerged in the hallway, her lips twisted in thought.

“You alright?” he asked tentatively.

“I wish...” she started.

“Yes?” 

“I wish it weren’t so sunny!” she said. He tried not to laugh. There were so very many things they could be wishing for. Hers seemed an odd request.

“It just doesn’t feel right. You know how it is in films--when bad things are happenin’, it's always black and white to convey the bleakness. Or at least sepia.”

“You are right. The sky doesn’t match the times.” 

He recalled seeing a picture of planes crashing into the World Trade Center on a clear, sunny day decades ago. It had also been brilliantly bright the day they buried Ross’s mother. Both skies were jarring, almost taunting to the miserable inhabitants of the earth who felt anything but sunny on those occasions. “Perhaps we need some good fog and familiar rain to comfort us.”

“I’d welcome some rain. As long as we’re stuck inside anyway,” she said. “You asked me earlier if I was worried about my family,” she added. 

“Yes?” He stepped closer sensing she wanted to initiate conversation that shouldn’t be shouted across the flat.

“Here’s the thing. I've been frettin’ about others but people I barely know. The girl at the salon who waxes me or the woman at the till at the uni cafeteria. Why them? Why am I worried about strangers?”

“Worry isn't rational, Demelza. And our brains are masters at protecting themselves and they do strange things under duress. Perhaps these people you speak of are all surrogates of sorts. It's easier to think of them than those you are closest to because your relationships are less complicated. But it's still a sign of a compassionate heart--and of your humanity.”

“Oh Ross,” she laughed. “I hope you’re right. And here I was thinkin’ I was just shallow and incapable of real love.”

He swallowed hard. He had so many thoughts he could share with her. How he feared the same about himself. How in the short time he’d known her, she seemed to exude a genuine love for all life around her. And now that he better understood the hurt of her early years, the saw how this was an even more remarkable trait. She was far from shallow. Then he recalled his dream and knew he was out of his depths thinking about her at all.

“Go put on some music,” he said. His tone was abrupt but she’d clearly learned to read him over the last few days and didn't seem bothered by his command.

“Yes, sir!” she replied with mock obedience then sighed.

\---

Ross heard Demelza’s singing from the kitchen where she was finishing the washing up. Another fitting choice. Her voice was lovely, soothing even, but nevertheless he felt a heaviness settle in his chest.

“ _Uneventful days, uneventful nights_

_Living in that dark, waiting for the light_

_Caught up in these neverending battle lines_

_Everything has changed and nothing it feels right…_ ”

It had been a long and empty day for them both. Ross felt unable to concentrate on any reading and based on what he’d heard coming from the living room all afternoon, he sensed Demelza’d had a hard time settling as well. The television would come on, then she'd flip through programmes at lighting speed, before she gave up and turned it off again.

And earlier, when she played any music for them, she seemed dissatisfied with all her selections. Some, like “Seasons” by Soundgarden, were just too melancholy. Then she tried others that apparently were meant to uplift, but she grew impatient when they didn't really do the job. She'd listened to “Fear” by Blue October at least two times in a thirty minute stretch then switched it off abruptly the third time, as though she'd given up on the battle. But even listening to music hadn't lasted long. At one point in the afternoon her side of the flat was decidedly quiet and Ross suspected she might have taken a nap. 

An understandable and common response to depressing events.

Despite her flagging spirit that day, she still had put care into preparing them some decent meals and was apologetic that she hadn't been more inspired. Ross found the bacon sandwich for lunch and the pasta for dinner perfectly satisfying and tried his best to show his appreciation. It was far better than what he would have bothered to cook for himself were he alone.

Perhaps these past few days he’d put too much pressure on her to be a positive presence. Demelza had the right to process her feelings--anxiety and sadness, even terror. If she needed to fall apart then she should do so. Ross only hoped he might be able to help her put herself back together later.

\---

Ross knew better than to try to use drink to hide from his troubles. He’d taken the bottle into his room the first night they’d divided up the flat but had been rather proud of his restraint. The past few days he’d had only one small glass at bedtime. It never bothered him before but tonight he felt it a sorry business to be drinking alone.

“Demelza, would you like some?” Ross stood in his doorway and held the battle of Nikka Pure Malt Black aloft so she could see what he was referring to.

“Oh no thanks. I’m not the biggest fan of whisky--which works out well for me since the good stuff isn't cheap!” 

“Fair. But there's a few bottles of wine in the kitchen and I think beer in the back of the fridge. Help yourself--that is, if you want any.” He recalled what she had said about her father drinking. Perhaps if she grew up in an alcoholic household she might refrain altogether. It would be understandable.

“Thanks. You know, Ross? I think a glass of wine would actually be lovely right now,” she said. She emerged with her glass and this time sat cross legged on the floor at the very edge of her territory, as close to his as she could be. 

He tried to follow suit but his stiff body rebelled and even getting down to the floor was a feat.

“Oh poor Ross, you need a good stretch. I can lead you through some yoga moves if you like,” she offered.

“Let me guess? You're a yoga instructor as your third job,” he laughed.

“Don't tease. No, I never take any classes, just watch videos.” 

“Are you good at that?”

“Yoga?”

“At teaching yourself things? Some people are, some aren't.”

“Comes from necessity maybe?” She shifted on the hard floor and wrapped her arms around her legs in an embrace. 

Tonight she was wearing a pair of Ross’s boxer shorts and a Seattle Seahawks t-shirt that he had picked up in his travels. He’d meant it for his business partner, Zacky, but figured Demelza could make better use of it now. Besides it might be months before he saw Zacky or any of the Grace staff again. The baggy shorts ballooned out over her slim thighs and exposed her long legs. He recalled she’d said she got them waxed.

“Demelza where in Cornwall are you from?” he asked suddenly, trying to shift his focus from her legs.

“My my Ross!” she laughed. “How did you know I was from Cornwall?”

“First of all, Demelza,” he smiled, “I know _loads_ about you now that I've been following you on social media.”

“Loads? Oh dear. They do say to be careful what you post lest _employers_ get wind of it!”

“You've nothing to fear. You’ve been most discreet. Your mates though…” He shook his head, then peered at her out of the corner of his eye to gauge her response. 

She squirmed a bit, perhaps thinking of things her friends had documented that Ross might have seen. Or hadn’t seen yet.

“Oh god, they are the worst, aren't they? Must you really take a photo of every drink, every night you are out?” she said.

“But I could tell you’re from Cornwall by your accent--it gets more noticeable when you're excited, you know,” he added.

“Really?” She shook her head in disbelief and took a drink from her glass. “Illogan, I’m from Illogan,” she said, trying her best to disguise her voice. It didn't work and she burst into a torrent of giggles.

“That’s near Redruth, right?” he asked.

“Yes, very good, Ross.”

“I’m from just a bit farther north. Near Perranporth.”

“Ross! I had no idea!” She put her glass down and stared at him, her mouth gaping open in amazement.

“You never asked.”

“Oh believe me, it's not that I'm not interested,” she said quickly. “I just didn't want to pry. I've been stompin’ all over your privacy these last three days, you’ve a right to keep your past your past.”

“Very thoughtful of you. You realise, we were practically neighbours.”

“Somehow I think you lived in quite a different world.” She laughed at the idea.

“Oh don't be so sure. If you saw the state of my old family home you’d rethink your impressions of me,” he insisted.

“Ross--three words. _Old. Family. Home_.” She raised a brow that said “Need I say more?’

He wondered if he should ask her about the home she grew up in but maybe she’d just signalled she wasn’t up for sharing. That her past was her own as well.

“You know when this is all over I want to go back for a few days,” he said, leaning his head against the wall. “My family lets the house out to tourists on holiday. It’s called _Nampara-_ -it’s old but not crumbling like the ancient stone cottages and mine buildings along the coast. You should join me. The house sleeps eight so I could promise you slightly better or at least more spacious accommodations.” He winked and this time he was aware he was doing it.

“Do you remember the way you could feel the sea and smell it in the air even when you're a mile away?” she asked. She hadn't seemed troubled by his invitation nor, apparently, had she taken it seriously.

“Or taste it on your skin,” he replied. 

“And the spring storms. They could be so fierce…”

“But you had to admire them for their strength and determination. Like there was beauty in that violence.” Ross closed his eyes and for a moment could imagine the waves pounding the rocks. “It's funny, I always knew to respect the sea,” he said, “If you know how to read its signals, it’s clear about the dangers it presents and never plays games. So different from an abstract threat you can’t see…”

“Ross, we’re just lucky we haven't seen it. Here in this flat, I mean. For some folks, _this_ isn’t abstract at all,” she said softly.

“Yes, you're right, Demelza.” 

He poured himself a second drink then nodded to her empty glass bidding her to do the same. She stood up and when she returned she'd brought the whole bottle with her. He smiled.

“I had a friend, when I was little,” she began, then stopped and bit her lip as though she was considering whether to go on. “She drowned in one of those spring storms. Fell off her father’s boat and they didn't find her til days later.”

“That must have been terrible for you,” he answered, trying to read her mood from the distance. Her eyes were cast downward, fixed on her glass.

“No one really explained it to me,” she said. “At school they didn't say much and my father had no sense of how a child understands death. It was like the adults just thought if they said nothin’, we'd all forget that we lost a classmate. I just sorta held on to all the details in my own mind until I got old enough to piece it all together.”

Maybe this was why she was drawn to teaching. To right some past ills.

“Her name was Julia and she was so strong and cheerful. I hadn't known her long--just over a year--but some people you never forget, do you?” She looked up at him now and he could see the brightness had returned to her blue eyes.

“No, we don’t.” 

He inadvertently winced as he shifted on the hard floor. She saw it and shook her head with a laugh.

“Okay, Poldark. Put your glass down, it's time to stretch that body of yours!”

At least she didn't say _old_ body.

“I've heard of hot yoga but never drunk yoga,” he teased.

“You need a mat...go get yourself a towel. It’ll have to do.”

She waited until he got settled again, then began her instruction.

“Maybe we could start with some pelvic tilts--good for your back and overall stiffness. Okay, Ross, on your backside like this,” she explained. “Rock your hips towards your face, but don’t lift your bum off the floor. As you do it, you should feel your lower back pressing into the floor.”

“Got it,” he said.

“Start slowly. Do like ten, then tell me if you feel anythin’ in your back.”

“Okay...one...two...three,” he began.

“Remember it’s subtle. Your lower back should be just slightly curved...” She stopped demonstrating and got to her feet to better observe.

“What? Am I doing it wrong?” he asked, looking up at her as she stood midway down the hall, assessing his form.

“No, just you’re liftin’ your bum up. Oh, it would be easier if I could just walk over and press down on your pelvis myself to show you!” she said. 

“Still, this feels better already,” he said, quickly. 

“Great. Now let’s maybe try cat cow stretches? This one you should feel along your whole body. Here, watch me first,” she said and got back down to demonstrate. Whether she was doing it correctly or not, Ross couldn't tell, but he was impressed by her long lines and confident form. And her head thrown back while she rounded her spine just looked sexy to him.

“Got it,” he said again, and felt himself putty in her hands at this point.

“It’s gonna feel similar, because your pelvis is moving the same way as before.” 

Good god. why did she have to keep referring to his pelvis of all regions?

“Oh yeah, there’s supposed to be breathin’ with both of these,'' she laughed. “I admit, I’m rubbish at that. Let’s see...erm...inhale when you arch your back and then exhale when you sorta round the spine.”

“Okay,” he said and kept it up, trying the move a few times. He did feel a much needed stretch move through him. “How’s this?”

“Well now instead of pressin’ down on you, I’d like to maybe push your tailbone up!” she laughed.

At that moment, Ross was rather relieved she couldn't. Somehow he felt certain that were she to hover over him then put her hands on his pelvis or under his tailbone, he’d unlikely be able to control an enthusiastic response from another key region of his lower body.

“This feels great but is no doubt basic stuff. Come on, Master Demelza, show me your favourite moves, then,” he urged. He was genuinely curious but also really wanted to get her eyes off his pelvis for a moment.

“You never can say no to a bar room challenge, can you, Carne?” she muttered playfully to herself then disappeared into the living room. She emerged with a cushion that she carefully placed against the wall.

“Ha...ha...oh...” she said cautiously and put her head to the cushion, hands down on either side of her, pressing against the floor. One knee balanced on her bent elbow then the other, and after only the slightest wobble, her long legs extended upward into a headstand.

As soon as she was upside down, one of her roomy pant legs slipped and a bit of her backside, just the one cheek, was left half exposed. 

This time Ross didn’t look away but admired its smoothness--and her strength. Her concentration, her control was impressive.

Then, just like that, she tumbled over in a fit of laughter and was sitting upright again.

“Or somethin’ like that,” she smiled.

“Bravo. That was brilliant,” he said.

“Ok, Ross, that's enough for me for one night,” she announced and gathered the bottle and glass to put away. 

“Oh come on, there’s at least two or even three glasses left in that bottle,” he coaxed.

"Yes but then we’d see all sorts of awkward postures, wouldn't we? ‘Downward Demelza’ as I'm sprawled across the floor? Or what’s the name for the pose where you're leanin’ over the toilet? I know my limit, Poldark,” she laughed. “Good night. And thank you, Ross.” This time she flashed him a soft smile. Some peace had returned to her face.

She glided into the bathroom and after just a few minutes was ready to switch off the living room light. But as soon as she did, she called out to him.

“Ross!” 

“Demelza, what is it? Is everything alright?” He moved anxiously to the border of the hallway, careful not to enter her zone.

“Yes, yes it is! Everythin’ is fine. Do you hear it?”

Ross listened attentively. The wind made an erratic rhythm as it cast thick droplets against the windows of the quiet flat. It was raining.

He smiled knowing how it would make her happy.

“So it is. Good night, Demelza.”

He walked through the dark hallway and shut the bedroom door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to https://www.verywellfit.com/do-these-10-yoga-poses-every-day-to-feel-great-3567179 for the yoga advice.
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song “Dark Places” by Beck. © 2019 Fonograf Records, under exclusive license to Capitol Records, LLC. Listen to it and ”Uneventful Days” (also from the album Hyperspace) here: http://beck.to/Hyperspace 
> 
> Lastly thanks to sawle_sister for the Blue October suggestion!
> 
> Stay well my friends!


	5. Things We Can Count

Ross wasn't sure just what had woken him. Without sitting up he reached for his mobile to check the time-- 3:08 AM. A perfectly shite time for a bout of insomnia.

He hadn’t been sleeping well the past two nights, waking for long stretches that then caused him to be exhausted later in the day. He’d always been one to rise early--usually at dawn--but each morning of this isolation, he’d found himself lying in well past nine. He hadn’t done that since his student days.

He thought he might as well take a piss and had made it all the way to the bathroom door without turning on the light, when he heard a strange sound--half hiss, half groan. Like there was a wild animal trapped at the other end of the flat. He listened again. It wasn’t a hiss but a gasp and this time it was followed by a high pitched whine.

“Demelza?” he called but got no response. He was sure it was her and that she was in some form of distress. He moved cautiously into the territory just outside the living room door, without actually stepping over the threshold.

“Demelza? Are you okay?” he asked again then immediately felt foolish. If she was and had been sleeping, he’d certainly have woken her now. He squinted in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust, then he saw her huddled on the sofa, her eyes squeezed shut. She was clutching the sheet in front of her naked body, her hands balled in tight fists. Her lips were parted as she struggled to catch her breath.

“R-r-ross…” she finally managed to say. “I’m okay.”

“You don't seem to be.”

“Just...a d-dream. Do me a favour? Turn around for a second?” Her breathy voice wobbled.

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, and when he turned back he saw she’d reached for her t-shirt nearby. Now she was covered, but still shaking.

“Can you talk to me?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Just a dream…” she repeated, shaking her head. “But it turned into a nightmare.“

“They say it's helpful to put nightmares into words. Can you tell me what happened, Demelza?” 

“There were these crowds outside and they wanted to get in. So they started scalin’ the buildin’--like Spiderman--and it was only a matter of time before they made it up here. And there was nowhere to hide. But when I woke up I couldn't catch my breath and my heart started racin’...still is…”

“Okay, let’s go slow,” he said. “Sit up more so you can better fill your lungs.” 

“Yes,” she said weakly, but when she put her hand to her chest, she was apparently startled by what she felt. “I just can’t stop it. It won’t stop…” she cried.

He wondered if he should break his self-imposed distance and go sit by her side, take her hand in his. It took all the resolve he had to stay firmly planted in the hallway. He swallowed hard.

“Have you ever had such a panic attack before?” he asked.

“Not for years,” she said. It was a good sign that she was able to speak to him.

“It’s okay, Demelza. You're not alone.” _I’m here._ “Now put your hands on your belly. Breathe in deeply, allowing your diaphragm to expand,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Hold it for three seconds, then exhale and go slow as you release…” he guided her.

“Oh,” she whimpered, her hands trembling.

“Come on, Demelza, you know the importance of breathing from your yoga,” he tried to be gentle. “Try again, Love.” It had slipped out so casually-- _Love_ \--in the same way he’d address an older woman after he’d just offered her his seat on the bus. He was sure he meant nothing more by it.

“I told you I was rubbish at that.” The shadow of a smile moved across her face, barely visible in the dim room. But he knew she was trying and that quite possibly he was managing to reach her.

Dutifully she tried again. He could hear her breaths across the room. Slowly they steadied.

“Better?” he asked.

She said nothing and he suspected she was still panicked by whatever erratic flutterings were still occuring in her chest. This might take some time.

“Try this...look around to find five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear…”

“Okay, erm...five things I can see. You standin’ in the doorway, that picture on the wall, my trainers by the door, the little light on the stereo that I forgot to turn off last night...” She paused to laugh after that one.

“That’s four,” he encouraged.

“Your hair standin’ straight up.”

“You already used me but okay, good job. Now four things you can touch.”

She pushed some stray hairs back away from her eyes. “Well um, my own hair, this book, this sheet, this pillow, this soft t-shirt.” 

“That was five. You're an overachiever. Now what can you hear?”

“The crunch of the leather sofa everytime I move my arse, the hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen…”

“You can hear that?” he interrupted.

“Yes, listen...can’t you?” She tilted her head and smiled, proud that she’d detected it. “And your voice, Ross.”

Now it was his heart that raced. The softness, the calm had returned to her. Across the darkened room he’d still somehow touched her and now she was calling out to him in return.

“Do I do smells next?” She sniffed one hand. “Garlic,” she announced, then smelled the other. “Bleach, of course.” she laughed.

“Expert job.”

“How’d you know to do that? How to talk to me like that?” she asked.

“My cousin Francis used to have bad panic attacks when we were in school. I used to help him if I was around...” he explained. “Do you want some water? That might help too.”

“No, Ross. I can get it myself. I think I’ll pee then go back to sleep. I think I should be alright.”

“Demelza, was I in your dream?” he thought to ask.

“Yes, you were. But that made it scarier because I was afraid they’d hurt you and there was nothin’ I could do to stop it,” she said. “Sounds so silly now, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

“Good night, Ross. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nodded and reluctantly turned to go back to bed.

\-------

“I was thinkin’ Ross…” Demelza began then took a bite of her omelet. She’d soaked some dried mushrooms overnight and added them to the eggs she’d expertly prepared that morning. Ross had eaten most of his rather quickly and was now trying to savour the last forkful. He was getting used to her delightful meals.

“Yes?” he smiled, encouraging her to continue.

“We need a schedule.”

“I agree,” he said.

The day before had been long and open ended. What had seemed to work on Friday hadn’t held up again the following day. Something had to change to help stave off the despair. They needed some sense of normalcy--even if it was false or newly calibrated.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“Well, we have meal times pretty set already. And then we both have our _work_ ,” she laughed.

“I wish you'd let me do more of the cleaning,” he lamented.

“No, it's givin’ me not just somethin’ to do but a sense of purpose. Don't deny me that.”

“Okay, so then we’ll have work time,” he agreed.

“But not all day,” she added quickly. “Specially for you. Set limits of when they can reach you and when they can’t.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. “Then maybe a little quiet reading time after that?”

“Yes also but not all day. We need some entertainment time too--telly, films, or dancin’...”

“Dancing?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then happy hour,” he countered.

“I like it,” she nodded decisively. “Another new rule: we only listen to music recorded before 1985.”

“Yes? And why is that?” he laughed.

“They just seemed to really understand the whole rage and despair thing better than anyone who came after. Like the world was shite around them but they just said ‘Fuck it’. And when the lyrics weren’t overtly givin’ the finger to the establishment, the beat still was. I just like how it makes me feel.” She’d given this some thought.

“So only punk, new wave?” he asked.

“Well, if you really need it, we can slip in some classic rock. Here, this one's for you, Ross,” she said just as the familiar electric organ came from the speakers in the living room. “I know you like The Doors.”

“ _Touch Me_? Really?” His deep laugh filled the narrow hallway. He was growing to love her sense of humour.

\----

“Ross? Have you got any moisturiser? My hands are as rough as old fisherman’s.”

“And just how familiar are you with a fisherman's hands?” Ross cocked a playful brow. “Really? Do tell, Miss Carne, it must be a sordid tale.”

“Ross!” Demelza waved away his joke but giggled to show she was amused, not annoyed.

“Yes, feel free to use whatever's in the bath. I'd have thought it was a hazard of the job--that you'd be used to rough hands by now.”

“Normally I wear the marigolds for everythin' but it's the additional hand washing that's doin’ it,” she called from the bathroom.

She came out and sniffed her hands. 

“I like it. A little citrus but maybe pine? Is this what you smell like?” she asked.

“I couldn't say, perhaps.” He grew flustered. 

Ross hadn't thought about how he smelled, even though he'd been in such close quarters with someone else. And he didn't know what his house guest smelled like but he had thought about it, imagined it ever since he’d had that dream. He assumed she’d now mostly smell like the products they were sharing--his--since the travel size shampoo and soap from her gym bag had been used up. And he knew she'd been using coconut oil as a facial cleanser. But of course he hadn’t been close enough to smell these on her skin. And how those scents mingled with her own body heat and her sweat, that was what he was most curious to know.

“Wait, I think I know where I might find…” he turned and went to the bedroom and began rummaging around in a bottom drawer. He found what he was looking for as well as another welcome surprise.

“Demelza!” he called to her as he stood in the doorway, both hands held behind his back.

“Yes Ross?” she laughed and squinted, then shifted to try to get a better look at what he might be holding. 

“No peeking. I’ve two things for you--both somewhat old and both used…”

“Tell me!”

“Okay okay. One at a time.” He bent low and slid the first item down the hall to her. 

She picked up the small tub of moisturiser using the end of her long sleeve so she wasn't actually touching it.

“Jo Malone? That’s really expensive. Isn’t it?”

“I wouldn't know. It was left here but I don't think it's been used much. It's yours if you want it.”

She unscrewed the cap and sniffed. “Oh that's quite nice. Pomegranates but sorta smoky. It won't bother you that I’ll smell like your old girlfriend? I guess I won't be close enough to you, anyway.”

“She wasn't my girlfriend. It was my mate, Caroline, if you must know.” Still he blushed.

“Whatever you say, Ross,” Demelza winked. 

“Fine then, if you insist on teasing me then perhaps you don't want your second present?”

“Don't be mean, Ross. What is it?”

“Close your eyes.” 

She did as she was instructed and didn't open them until she felt something hit her foot.

“Oh Ross! Is it…?”

“An Android charger.” He hoped to god it worked for her after such fanfare.

She squealed and ran with it to the living room. A few moments later there was a second squeal.

“It's workin’, Ross. Oh thank you, thank you!"

“It's been a long time since I had a Samsung...I have no idea why I kept it.”

“Must have been fate,” she said. “Great, now I can send you nudes.”

“What?” He almost choked.

“Oh I'm kiddin’, relax. I assure you I've never sent anyone nudes before.”

“No no, of course. And I, well I hope you don't think…” he stammered.

“No, I see you're not the type for porn.”

“That’s a big claim,” he laughed. “And you can tell this? How?”

“When you clean houses you get instincts about people. What they do in their spare time. And well, you're not the type. You don't deal in fantasy, do you, Ross?”

“Well, Demelza, what else can you tell about me from my flat?”

“You work too much and are not home enough,” she said without hesitation. “You know, Ross, I cleaned your flat once before. At first I thought no one really lived here at all, like it was one of those corporate lets for folks just comin’ into town for business. It was so, well sorta sterile.”

“Sterile? I suppose in this new world we live in, _sterile_ might be considered quite the compliment,” he tried to laugh.

“Well, it was clean but also there wasn't much of anythin’ that was personal, is what I mean. Then I saw your bookshelf and knew you were human.”

“Glad to make the cut. You cleaned for me before? When? I like to think I would have noticed.”

“It doesn't matter. If I did my job properly you weren't supposed to notice, were you? Do you need your tablet back since I now have a mobile again?”

“No, keep it but give me your number so I can text you from my end of the flat.”

“Ross, I’ve been thinkin’... “ she said again.

“Yes?”

“Well in our schedule we haven’t allowed for play and we desperately need some fun. Like a game or somethin’.”

“I suppose we could play cards or some other sort of game online.”

“I was thinkin’ something more physical. Here in the flat.”

“You have something in mind?” he asked. 

Of course she’d thought this through.

\---

“Okay, the bedroom door is your goal--or rather the one you defend--and mine is the livin’ room.” She held the broom firmly in both hands ready to go.

“We need a referee to release the puck,” Ross lamented. “Or you’ll complain I cheated.”

“I will not. Just do your best to slide it to the middle. It will be fair enough,” she said.

He carefully tossed the top of a plastic takeaway container that was serving as their puck then hooted triumphantly when it landed directly in the middle of the hallway. 

“Get ready to be crushed, Demelza,” he growled.

At such a provocation she raced up the floor to the midfield and took a shot at the lid with her broom. Wielding his dust mop, he handily intercepted it and with one swift swing, sent it flying all the way into the living room.

“Goal!”

“Well, we just started. That’s only _one_ for the Bedroom Boors,” she grumbled.

“Yes and still zero for the Living Room Divas.”

This time she let the puck come to her and in turn was able to send it sailing between Ross’s legs and into the bedroom.

“Ha!” She jumped up and down in excitement.

“You know you’ve an unfair advantage--your broom works better than my dust mop,” he said.

“Are you sayin’ I’m cheatin’?” she laughed. “If we had a second broom we could try curlin’ instead and work together.”

“Let’s play until one of us gets five points, then have a drink.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But prepare to die, Darklord!”

“In your dreams, _Gingerbeast_.”

\---

_Of course._

Ross had settled against his pillows and was about to switch off his light when he had a flash of inspiration and reached for his mobile.

“Valentine’s Day,” he texted Demelza on the other side of the flat. He waited anxiously for a reply to come back. Instead his mobile buzzed.

“Very good, Ross. How did you know it was Valentine’s Day when I cleaned your flat?” she asked.

“You left two chocolates on my pillows. I remember thinking it seemed very unlike Prudie to do that.”

“Just thought I should mark the day somehow,” she explained.

“And you should know I appreciated them. I ate them _both._ ” He really didn’t need to say more.

“No sharin’? Oh well, maybe next year,” she said. “Speakin’ of sharin’, I do wish we had some chocolates now, though,” she sighed.

“Meet me in the hallway.” He rang off and went to his closet, searching through his carry-on luggage from his recent travels.

“What the…?” Demelza laughed as he shot the box across the floor using his trusty dust mop. “Ross, where did you get these?”

“Duty free. I’d originally picked them up for my great aunt but I doubt I’ll be seeing her any time soon so they are all yours. They’re Belgian.”

“I can see. Oh Ross, are you sure? I adore dark chocolate. You don’t want any?”

“No, you keep them,” he smiled.

“So many gifts today, Ross,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“Sweet dreams, Demelza,” he said, and switched off the light.

_Goodnight, Love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Touch Me" by the Doors here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRNxXS5nLCI&list=RDPRNxXS5nLCI&start_radio=1&t=20


	6. Of All the Gin Joints In All the World

“Damn it,” Ross grumbled. That morning he’d taken his coffee back to bed with him and somehow while reading the news, had managed to spill it on the duvet. He searched desperately for something with which to mop up the mess and settled on yesterday’s t-shirt. He hated to potentially ruin a white shirt, but better it than the laptop.

 _Although if my laptop malfunctioned, I’d be difficult to reach_ , he thought. _Yes, and then you'd be out of a job, you fool, and broke as well as locked down_. 

It could have been far worse, he supposed. The coffee hadn't been hot enough to scald him and he still had enough in his cup so he needn't pester Demelza to pour him another. 

In the brief exchange they'd had that day, she had looked a little extra weary, though she swore she’d slept okay. Now he could hear her leaving the bathroom, her wet feet squeaking on the hallway floor. Maybe a shower will have perked her up but if it didn't, he knew he had no room to complain. Sleeping on a stranger’s sofa was no doubt getting old.

He took another swig of the rich dark roast then closed out of the Guardian and impulsively opened Facebook.

“Damn it!” he said again. “Demelza! I can’t believe her--what was she thinking?” He looked at the screen and shook his head in disbelief, and maybe disappointment.

“Demelza!” he called without opening his door. He listened but heard nothing. This time he got to his feet and walked into the hallway. “Demelza?” Still no response. She most certainly had heard him--the living room had no door to shut--so why was she ignoring him?

“Well, well, Miss Carne. You leave me no choice,” he huffed and reached for his mobile.

\----

_Do-do do-do do-do do-do_

The opening notes of the iconic Beatles song resounded through the flat and made Ross chuckle. He stood, leaning against the door jamb, mug in hand, and waited.

“ _You say it's your birthday_ …” The electric guitar started again. 

“Ross!” Demelza came out of the living room, a towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair hanging down her back. An incredulous smile spread across her face.

“How did you know…? And how did you…?” She waved her hand as the voices of McCartney and Lennon boomed around her.

“I can play it through my mobile,” he said with a proud grin. 

“You never told me that. And you’ve been lettin’ me pick all the music these past days...”

“You never asked. And I learned that it was a _special_ day from Facebook and not from the birthday girl herself, it seems,” he laughed.

“Oh that. Well I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. You've done so much for me already, Ross, and I sorta just thought…”

“That we’d forget it? Hardly.”

“Need more coffee?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“So? How old are we?”

 _“We_?” she laughed. “ _We_ are twenty-five.”

 _Good god,_ he thought. _She’s a full decade younger than I am_.

“And let’s see, late March makes you…Aries?” he said.

“Very good.”

“Of course,” he said with a head shake. “Competitive? Stubborn? I should have known.”

“That’s a bit out of character for you, Ross. I'd hardly expect you to follow astrology!”

“Out of character?” he laughed. “I have my secrets too, Demelza. Maybe you can’t tell everything about me from my miserable flat.” 

“Stoic, disciplined, workaholic, and unforgiving...especially of yourself? That would make you a…”

“Capricorn.”

“Knew it.”

“Well my great aunt had some sort of influence on me,” he explained. “Stars, tarot, you name it.”

“Great aunt? The one whose chocolates I’ve been enjoyin’? And what did she tell you, Ross? About the Poldarks and your prospects?”

“Don’t ask,” he grimaced. “Okay, I can’t make you breakfast since I’m banned from the kitchen--but if I could, I would. Is it cruel to ask what you would have liked?”

“Only a little.”

“It’s a shame because I make a brilliant Eggs Benedict.”

“Oh I'm sure the ladies are all kinds of impressed,” she laughed and stared straight at him with her shining blue eyes. She was right--it was a thing he liked to do when he’d had a woman overnight--if she was special enough to stay for brunch.

And here was this woman. Special for sure, she’d been there for six days now, well past a single brunch. Clad only in one of his towels, there was something very raw about her--damp and exposed--yet she was perfectly at ease, at home both in the space and with him. Familiar but also remote. Maybe it was knowing he’d stay away--that he had to--that allowed her to feel so comfortable around him. And she truly was, he could read it in her loose posture and warm smiles.

“But we’re out of eggs anyway,” she added and shook out her wet hair. “Well almost--we have one. So let's say what I would prefer more than anythin’ is some toast with jam and butter? Shall I fire up the toaster?”

“You are making this too easy for me, Demelza. I swear I will think of something we can do--that I can do for you--to celebrate.”

“You do that, Ross. I’m goin’ to get dressed.”

“ _We’re gonna have a good time_ …”

\----

After working for several hours in his room, Ross felt ready to jump out of his skin. What he wanted most desperately was a chance to really stretch his legs. He tried not to think of the treadmill or the jogging path along the river; it would be weeks before he’d have access to those luxuries again. Instead he peered into the empty hallway and decided to sneak in some press ups.

 _Just a few days away from the gym and you’re already out of shape_ , he thought, fearful that he was growing short of breath too easily. He completed twenty, and while they didn't quite satisfy his restless legs, the physical exertion felt good all the same. 

He was relieved that Demelza hadn’t come upon him but something was keeping her occupied in the living room. When he heard the grunts and thumps, he moved closer to check out what she was doing.

“You changed your hair,” Ross said. 

“Oh, do you like it? I was watchin’ a DIY video and thought I’d try it on myself.” Several different plaits of varying thicknesses were pinned up in back, exposing her long neck. It was an elegant look, better suited for the red carpet than a day lounging in pajamas in a tiny flat.

“It’s pretty.” 

“Here’s the best part,” she said with excitement. “I only had two hairpins but I made some more out of paper clips!”

“You can do that? Good god, you’re resourceful.” Surely this wasn’t what he heard in the hallway though.

“Turns out there’s an instructive video for just about everythin’! she said proudly. “Okay Mr. Observant, notice anythin’ else?

“You rearranged the furniture.” 

She’d pushed the sofa to the west wall furthest from the doorway and moved the television so it faced out into the hallway.

“This way, Ross, you can see the screen from your end of the hall and don’t have to only watch films on your laptop.”

“You did this yourself?” he asked and hoped he hadn't come across as condescending.

“Oh, you don't mind, do you? I'm sorry I should have asked.”

“No, it was a kind and generous act.” Of course it also meant she was no longer quite so exposed as she slept naked on the sofa. He wondered if that's what had motivated her.

“I was thinkin’ we could move the armchair out for you? It will be tight in the hallway but that way you'd have somewhere comfortable to sit?”

“No need, I’ll be fine.” 

“Well you can still use the cushions, maybe?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t move anythin’ else by the way,” she said breezily then turned to the east wall by the door frame. “Ross, I meant to tell you, I really like this drawin’. I noticed it the other night. What is it? And what’s it printed on?”

“Linen. Very old linen. It's a schematic map of a Cornish mine. See the different levels? It was a real mine that supposedly was in my family centuries ago.”

“Wheal Leisure?” she said reading at the lettering at the bottom. “Odd name. Oh wait, is that Old Cornish?”

“Very good. It means ‘place of work’ and something like ‘mine’. Not very creative.”

“But descriptive. It looks good in here. I like the contrast--you know, something so antique in such an otherwise modern space. Complex. Like you, Ross.”

 _And do you like me_? he was almost tempted to ask. “So what does the birthday girl want to watch tonight?” he managed instead.

“Somethin' black and white.”

_Of course._

“But anythin’ really. What’s your choice, Ross?”

“Do you like Kurosawa? Maybe _Seven Samurai_?”

“Erm…”

“Or perhaps... _Casablanca_?”

“Yes! That would be fittin’. I mean they’re trapped--in Morocco, right?”

“Well not all of them are trapped exactly but I could see how it’s...relatable.”

“Perfect, after dinner then. And take all the cushions you need,” she sighed. “Just think, only eight more days then you can sit close to the screen, stretched out on your sofa like you normally do.”

So she was counting too.

\-----

Three conference calls ate the better portion of his afternoon, but Ross was grateful he wasn’t leading the meetings, merely offering feedback on his colleagues’ projects. It was just as well, for his attention wavered and he did little to try to stay focused. So while Zacky Martin reported on proposed changes to early termination fee structures, Ross stared blankly at the wall. But it was inaccurate to describe his thoughts as scattered. There was one single thought he couldn’t get out of his head: what it would be like to share the sofa with Demelza. Just to sit with her and be near her.

He’d be on one side and she the other, her long legs casually stretched over his lap. Perhaps a packet of crisps was set between them and occasionally they’d both reach for it at the same time, their fingers brushing against each other’s. She’d pull one out and hold it aloft, teasingly, then giggle while he leaned in growling, teeth gnashing. But she’d stare him down with her bright blue eyes and he’d watch as she slowly moved it to her own open mouth. At the last second she’d relent and put it to his lips. And after he’d eaten the crisp, he’d lick her fingers and she’d laugh even more. 

Or maybe she’d be closer, cuddled up against him, in his arms, and they'd both be stretched out, their legs intertwined. When she spoke, he would feel her jaw moving on his chest and he’d listen to the rise and fall of her breathing, until it steadied and he knew she was asleep. He’d press his nose and lips to her soft hair and inhale her scent. Her warmth as it spread through his body would be startling.

“Well think it over, Ross,” Zacky’s voice called him back to the present--and to the lonely bedroom. “We don’t have to make any decisions this week and the truth is many of these decisions might be made for us…”

“You’re right, Zacky. Good work everyone. Stay strong.” Ross tried to sound like a leader who had answers and could provide some sort of inspiration.

“Same time tomorrow?” another weary voice asked. It was Henshawe, another trusted associate at Grace Energy. Ross knew Hensh was having a rough go of it, with three little kids out of school. His wife was a nurse who’d been working long shifts then staying at her sister’s empty flat to avoid bringing any contagion home with her. That the man had managed to bring anything substantial to this meeting was nothing short of a miracle.

“No, everything will keep until Thursday,” Ross said. “Let’s go slow tomorrow. Each of us has plenty to do on our own.”

“Cheers, Poldark.” His appreciative colleagues all signed off and Ross was once again left alone. 

Through the thin walls, Demelza could be heard moving about in the kitchen, already starting their dinner. But before Ross could go talk to her, he had a few more important tasks to do.

\---

“Okay, Demelza, put down that spoon and go check your mobile,” Ross called from his end of the hallway.

“Yes, Ross?” she asked and cocked her head playfully. Dutifully she pulled her mobile from her back pocket and checked her emails.

“Oh Ross! How sweet! But you didn’t have to!”

“It’s your birthday so of course you deserve presents,” he said firmly. “I was stumped at first, what with the situation we’re in…”

“Oh it’s simply the most thoughtful thing I could have ever imagined,” she said. Her cheeks had gone pink and she looked at him, her lashes blinking in disbelief. 

“I listen to you,” he said.

Then she laughed softly. “So you do, Ross.”

He’d adopted two penguins in her name from the World Wildlife Fund and also made a donation to Doctors without Borders. He would have liked to get her something more personal, more tangible, but knew she’d appreciate these gestures. And he had two more things up his sleeve that he hoped would make her happy that night.

“Okay now you need to go into the living room,” he ordered.

“Now?”

“Yes, do it.” This one was a risk but he was banking that his memory wouldn’t fail him.

“Okay, I’m here, now what?” she called.

“Look out the northwest window.”

“Which one?”

“To your left,” he laughed. “Now look down, all the way by the road, that tiny patch of…”

“Yellow! Daffodils! Ross, I see them!!” she cried. “Oh they're brilliant.”

“I suppose I could have skirted the law and gone to pick some for you,” he lamented.

“No, this is better. They’ll last longer in the earth than in a vase. And others can see them too. Can you?”

“Sort of,” he lied.

“Thank you! Thank you, Ross!”

He wondered if, at some other window in some other flat, anyone else was appreciating the flower beds, or if anyone even remembered they were there. The streets were empty so no one would be noticing them as they walked along. Of course the gardeners who’d worked the beds would remember. Ross had passed them so many times season after season yet never asked their names. Had they been hired by the property owners--some faceless corporate entity--and not the city? What did they have planned for after the daffodils faded? How soon before the weeds set in?

“Okay, I have one last thing for you--something you can actually touch. Now go look at the very back of the refrigerator.” 

She scurried back to the kitchen and he patiently--confidently-- waited for her response.

“Ha, ha!” she squealed with delight. “Yes! Oh Ross! Thank you!” She held up the bottle of prosecco and then blew him a kiss. “What were you savin’ this for?”

“The right company,” he said. “Open it and let's have a glass.”

“Or two!” she sang.

\---

“This dinner is fabulous,” Ross said, tucking into his second bowl. She’d fashioned a variation of a Thai curry after finding tins of coconut milk and potted shrimp in the cupboards.

“Fish sauce would have made it better but glad you liked it. This is the last of the rice, Ross, so from now on expect more potatoes or pasta,” she said. 

“I’m sure anything you make will be delicious. Okay, Demelza, tell me about your best birthday ever,” he asked. He was letting her drink most of the prosecco and wished there was more they could do to celebrate.

“Ever? Let’s see, when I turned 21, I went to the cinema with my mate, Emma.”

“And?”

“That was it. But it was the first time I felt truly content with where I was and who I was with. I wasn’t worried about somethin’ better goin’ on somewhere that I was missin’ or some bloke I wanted to see later. It was a big moment. ‘Course afterwards we did meet other friends at the pub and we had some fun too.”

“And now? Are you longing for something better that’s most likely going on elsewhere?” he asked and looked into his glass. _Or longing for some other bloke?_

“No use thinkin’ such thoughts. I’m here now--and I’m safe. That’s massive,” she said earnestly. “And I can’t complain about my company.” She smiled and put down her empty bowl. “And you, Ross? Best--or maybe worst--birthday?”

“Worst? Sixteenth, hands down. I’d gone to my mate Dwight’s house for winter holidays and the night of my birthday we both ended up being sick.”

“Parents' liquor cabinet?”

“No, we smoked a full pack of cigarettes. Each.”

“Oh god,” she tried not to laugh.

“You know, that might have been the event that inspired Dwight to become a doctor,” Ross laughed. “He’s a pulmonologist now. We’re still close.” 

“A pulmonologist? Poor man! This must be such a difficult time for him. A real nightmare!”

“I imagine it is.” 

“Oh Ross, you need to ring him. Don't just text him but actually ring him. Let him know you’re thinkin’, that you care!” she said, sitting upright.

“Okay, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Demelza.” He was charmed by her insistence. “And you? When was the last time you spoke to erm…” He paused trying to remember names she’d mentioned over the past few days. 

That afternoon, after several of her mates posted birthday wishes, Ross had looked through some of her old Facebook photos to put names with faces. He’d felt a bit like a voyeur but they weren’t hidden or blocked, and besides, wasn’t that the whole point of social media? Her friends all looked like a decent bunch but she was the one who stood out to him. Always smiling, the camera seemed to love her.

“Erm?” she coaxed.

“Jinny, Morwenna, or Keren?” he asked triumphantly.

“Keren’s just my flatmate. We get one well enough but she’s not a proper mate. Morwenna’s a new friend, from my Child Development course. And Jinny just had a baby so she has no time to chat anymore. But I texted her Saturday and she’s doin’ fine.”

“Okay, Emma then?”

“Emma? We spoke this mornin’ if you must know.” She shook her head, amused. “Yes, Ross, you are _so_ proud of yourself, aren’t you...that you know all these things about me. Then again, it's all just standard stuff I might tell any stranger I meet at a bar.”

“Really? A stranger?”

“Yes, my sign, my occupation, my drinks preference, my age even,” she insisted.

“What about your sleeping habits?”

“Well not that. And, Ross, I’m rather sure a gentleman wouldn’t mention that I prefer to sleep nude,” she laughed. 

“I meant your nightmares--or is that too personal and indelicate to bring up as well? My point is we know more about each other than what one would tell a stranger. We've been talking for days.”

“Okay, but it's moot. Were it not for this absolutely fucked situation, you and I would never have met.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” he said. “You might have come here to clean again…”

“And? _If_ you’d been home--and that’s a huge if--you’d have smiled politely and asked me ‘What was your name again?’ but I'm afraid that would be the extent of our conversation. Unless you asked if I’d cleaned the oven.”

“Never.” 

“Yes, you’re right. You probably wouldn’t smile, and certainly not politely,” she teased.

“But you know it’s conceivable we’d run into each other somewhere in this city.”

“That’s doubtful!” She dismissed the idea and poured herself another glassful and he smiled. He enjoyed watching her grow so friendly--and tipsy. “Ross, I live almost a full hour from here. And I go to school on the opposite side of the city from where you work. I just can't see a chance meetup anywhere--not on a bus or the Underground or the shops.”

“There's got to be something--some event we’d both attend. A concert, a play…” he continued.

“Oh we’re meetin’ at the theater now? Think again. I only ever go to the cheap matinees…”

“I’ve been known to go to those.” He didn't mention it was usually with his great aunt.

“And do you generally strike up a conversation in the crowded lobby with a random stranger?”

“Maybe if she stepped on my foot. Or took my seat by mistake?” He wasn’t giving up. “What about in the pub afterwards? Across the road.”

“Oh yes I can see it. I’d be waitin’ at the bar to place my order and you'd come muscle right in front of me and talk over me as if I wasn’t even there…”

“Then you’d clear your throat and give your terrifying death stare.”

“Me? Terrifyin’? And I don't have a death stare,” she replied.

He smiled and raised his brow but said nothing in response.

“So I’d apologise with a sheepish grin and offer to buy your drinks.” He clapped his hands together. She was trapped.

“And I’d say ‘no thank you’, unmoved by all your manly displays.” She was ready and volleyed back handily.

“Manly displays?” he scoffed.

“Well, you demonstrated your strength when you pushed me aside, then you tried to use charm to weasel your way out of it. Finally you relied on your money as you tried to buy me a drink. Three attempts and three strikeouts, Poldark.”

“Okay, so you’d just walk away?”

“And that's that…" Now she rubbed her hands together, mocking his confidence.

“No, it wouldn’t be over yet,” he insisted. “I’d observe from afar as you drank with your mates…”

“Who would alert me that you were spyin’ by the way--we look out for each other. So if you think you’re goin’ to just send over some drinks later…”

“Not a chance. I'm far smarter than that.”

“Oh?”

“I’d send over some chips. Or maybe some fried calamari?”

“Well...that might actually move me!” she laughed. “But Ross, that’s not fair. You can propose that because you _already_ know me--and my appetite. If I were a stranger, it would be a gamble.”

“Okay, I’d also send over a salad in case that was your thing.”

“Because girls like salads?” she rolled her eyes. 

“Well it got your attention.”

“Okay, fair. So let’s say I’m eatin’ the chips--with curry sauce, right?--and my mates go for the salad, you gonna come chat us up”

“Yes, and this time I’d introduce myself properly.”

“But my mouth would be stuffed with chips so it would be my mate who answers first, and then who knows? You and she might end up doin’ all the talkin’.”

“Which mate?”

“Tess, the one with the big boobs. In all the photos she’s the one who makes that kissy face and _always_ has a drink in hand. She’d be all over you.”

“Not my type,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Oh? Well, it doesn’t matter. Even if you bought us a round--or even two--and we had a polite conversation, we wouldn’t _really_ get to the part where we figured out how well we got on. That would take hours…”

“Sure we would.”

“No, we wouldn’t. After a while you'd grow bored and go back to your own mates. You weren’t alone, were you?” she asked and took a drink. “Face it, Ross, we’d only really talk at length if I went home with you. Then we’d talk _after_.”

Now he laughed again--a deep, bold laugh that filled the hallway.

“And would you, Demelza? ' _Go_ __h_ ome' _ with me?”

“Depends on how amazin’ the chips were and many drinks I let you buy me…”

“Oh you are good,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Good?”

“Demelza, you are an expert level flirt…” He shook his head and laughed again, this time more softly.

“Am I?” She raised her brows. “I didn't realise I was bein’ anythin’ but myself…” she said dryly.

She took another long drink from her glass before tossing her head back and smiling. The hair pulled away from her face showcased the smooth skin on her cheeks, her long neck, her delicate collar bone just visible at the neckline of her top. 

Oh she was lovely. 

Ross looked straight at her, fully aware what he was doing. His tongue was peeking out between his lips and his smiling eyes caught hers. She stared back unblinking.

He felt certain that if he leaned towards her--if he were close enough--that she would lean in too. And if he kissed her, she’d kiss him back. One hand he’d put to her shoulder and the other he’d gently put to her hair. She’d taste like prosecco and afterwards she’d lick her wet lips signalling what she wanted more of was not to be found in her glass.

“Ross,” she’d whisper, her fingers tracing his beard. He’d cover her hand in his and kiss her again, this time with more drive, allowing her to feel the full extent of his hunger. She too would be greedy and open her mouth wider.

“Oh Ross,” she laughed, and he was pulled back from his vision in a flash. “Ross,” she said again. It was almost a tired sigh, and most certainly not a desirous whisper. And she remained in her chair, far, far away from him. Six feet, sixty feet, it hardly mattered. 

She bit her lip, perhaps unnerved by what she had unleashed, then looked away quickly, drawing her legs up to her chest. A protective gesture?

“Face it, Ross,” she said, ”You wouldn’t have noticed me.”

 _Not true,_ he wanted to say but found he couldn’t speak.

“And I’d be just another face in the crowd.”

_A beautiful one._

“Well let this be a lesson to us both then, Ross. When this is all over, we need to make an effort--each of us--to have more meaningful conversations about real things with complete strangers. So many friends, just waiting to be made. Just like us.”

_Friends._

“Yes. Of course, you’re right, Demelza.”

“Do you want the last bit?” she asked and waved the bottle at him.

“No, that’s yours. Happy Birthday. Come, let’s put on _Casablanca_.” He smiled weakly. A film about lovers forced to separate suddenly seemed about as appealing as a paper cut. 

“Ross, please. Go take the pillows from your bed and I’ll get you the cushions from the armchair,” she said. “It’s still the floor but it will be better than you sitting on the stiff kitchen chair for two hours.”

“One hour and forty-two minutes,” he corrected her.

“Just eight more days, Ross,” she said and rose to her feet.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter reads like the Cornwall phonebook--lots of character names from Winston Graham appear and thus I am reminded to give him credit for these wonderful creatures I've been honored to play with. Also quite a few lines from Debbie Horsfield's scripts find a new home/context here (I steal the blocking in parts too). I know savvy readers will catch them--I hope they will appreciate them.
> 
> Lastly, Beatles' "Birthday" ℗ 2009 Calderstone Productions Limited (a division of Universal Music Group), Released on: 1968-11-22. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhdOPhTHeoE
> 
> Thanks for reading. Stay well my friends!


	7. Three Phone Calls

“Ross! Mate!”

“Doctor Enys!” Ross smiled when he saw Dwight’s face pop up on his computer screen. 

The day after Demelza’s birthday, Ross followed up on his promise to reconnect with his old friend, and the two had arranged a time between Dwight’s shifts to really talk--and not just text. When Ross stopped to think about how he now considered Facetiming “proper” conversation, he had to laugh. 

“You look good, Dwight,” Ross said. 

It was only partially a lie. There were lines around Dwight’s bleary eyes, which tended to look more grey than blue when he was tired or troubled. But Ross also saw a spark in them. Dwight’s passion to help others was fueling him.

“I can't say the same thing about you. What is that you’re growing--or did something die on your face?” Dwight teased. 

Normally Ross would have quipped back that loads of ladies liked the woodsman look but in a flash he decided against thinking too much about women and what they may or may not like. He had no idea what Demelza thought of his beard and had been afraid to ask.

“Not shaving is one of the benefits of working from home,“ Ross said instead. “But tell me, how are you? _Where_ are you?”

“Now? I’m in our flat. First time in days, really. These endless shifts have been unbelievable. Just when I think I can get some kip, new cases come in and I just can't leave my colleagues to deal with them alone. I’m only here for another hour and then I have to go back.”

“And Caroline? She isn’t with you?” Ross asked. 

Caroline was Dwight’s wife of about six months and another of Ross’s old friends. A few years earlier, Ross had inadvertently introduced them to each other and was stunned--and a bit worried--when the two started dating. And while Ross would have never purposely paired them romantically, he later came to see they were in fact a good match. Caroline and Dwight might seem very different in interests and temperament but both had the same charitable inclinations--and the same stubborn determination to see them through.

 _Well I’ve been alone these many months, so who am I to judge any one’s relationship?_ Ross had reckoned as he came to accept their union.

“No, Caroline went down to her uncle’s estate in Cornwall but wasn’t happy to leave. You know her, she doesn’t exactly like to be told what to do.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Ross laughed. 

But he also imagined Caroline understood the best thing she could offer Dwight now was peace of mind. If Dwight was going to do his job, he’d need to be secure knowing his wife was safe and that he wasn’t bringing home contagion every night. Ross also suspected she’d also take pride in ‘doing her part’, isolating herself with a stiff upper lip for the good of society, supporting her heroic husband from afar as he battled on the medical frontlines.

“And as of now, I’m fine. Exhausted but...Ross, you have no idea what it's like.” Dwight shook his head and pulled his lips thin.

“I'm afraid I can’t even imagine,” Ross replied.

“Actually you probably can imagine. If you’ve seen photos of desperate refugee camps, field hospitals during war, or poorly equipped wards in other parts of the world, you’d recognise the scene.” Dwight had done several stints at small clinics in both Haiti and the Dominican Republic so he spoke from first hand experience. 

“It’s that bad?”

“Yes. And to think it could happen in one’s own country? When we should have all the resources at our fingertips were it not for… well, this is not the time to get political.” Dwight tried to give a weak smile and almost succeeded. 

“Is it not?” Ross asked. “Shouldn't we _right now_ be holding accountable those who could have made plans for this and taken action weeks ago to lessen the impact but instead closed their eyes and lined their pockets? Are we just to forgive them of their cold hearts, their arrogance and self satisfaction because we are desperate and on our knees?”

“Oh Ross, you haven’t changed!” Dwight laughed. “Are you really going to incite a riot in the middle of a pandemic?”

“No, of course not. And yet we can’t just sit back patiently and wait to be heard later at the ballot box. But enough of this. Dwight, how will you hold up?”

“I have to find strength to go on. I don’t have a choice. There are weeks ahead that will be even worse.” Dwight shook his head. “But it’s odd--I’ve also witnessed so many acts of kindness and decency and compassion. Perhaps it’s a reminder to us all, that when this is over we need to be far more caring to strangers in need. Here and abroad.”

Ross recalled Demelza’s observation only the day before, about seeking more meaningful connections with complete strangers. “So many friends, just waiting to be made,” she’d said. She’d also noted time and again that while she and Ross had been merely inconvenienced by their new reality, there were millions in the world who lived with these fears and deprivations every day. And so many who had it far worse. Ross thought that Demelza and Dwight would most likely get on well were they ever to meet.

“And you, Ross? Is your isolation driving you barmy yet?”

“Actually I’m not alone. My... _friend_ is here with me.” It no longer seemed right to describe Demelza as his cleaner. “She was stranded so I offered her a place to stay.” Ross said and looked away lest his face betray anything. 

“Oh? But Ross, you’ve only the one bed?’ Dwight raised a single brow.

“And a sofa, Dwight,” Ross added quickly.

“No, really, that’s great news. And it’s good for your health, no matter how much you claim to love your solitude, Ross. Being with another can reduce stress and bolster the immune system. That’s why married men live longer.” Dwigth winked.

\----

“Ha, ha!”

Ross heard Demelza’s voice ring throughout the hallway and came to his door to investigate. She was excited in a way he hadn't heard before--or had he? He stopped for a moment, thinking how his knowledge of her was so incomplete. He’d only ever observed her interact with him alone, never with anyone else. Was she the same with others? Perhaps not, even the most authentic people have different sides to themselves. And how long would it be before the two of them met another soul again? 

He imagined bringing her to the Enyses’ flat for dinner. Perhaps it would be a summer evening and they’d all dine out in the garden. She’d wear a sundress and as they entered the front gate he’d gently put his hand to her bare back, leading the way. Her hair would be up, exposing her exquisite neck and it would take all his restraint not to give it a quick peck before Caroline opened the door. Or would it be Dwight who would greet them and send Ross a quick glance of approval that he’d brought such a lovely date?

But there were so many uncertain weeks ahead of them before routine social interactions could be restored. So for the time being, casual dinners with friends would remain as much of a fantasy as his lips ever touching Demelza’s skin.

Ross strained to listen closer but she’d gone quiet and at once he felt ashamed for eavesdropping. He’d just turned back to his room--where else could he go?--when she leaned her head and half her body through the living room threshold.

“Ross! You’ll never believe it!” Her face was bright and she grinned so widely he could see almost all her gleaming white teeth.

“What is it?” he replied and smiled back.

“Oh Ross! That was Keren, my flatmate, I just spoke to. Her boyfriend, Mark, has been stayin’ with her at the flat--at our flat--and well, he’s got his car with him!”

Ross furrowed his brow and tried to understand why that would be such an exciting turn in all this mess. Then he realised he must look as though he was frowning so instead he spoke.

“So...?” 

“He’s comin’ to pick me up!”

So that was it. She was leaving and she was happy to be doing so. 

No, that wasn't fair--she wasn't excited to be leaving but excited to be going home, as would most people. Even after a spectacular holiday in the Grecian Isles, one might feel ready for home, no matter what home is like. And this surely had been no holiday for her.

It was good news for Ross as well. He could have access to the whole of the flat again and no longer be so confined. He wouldn't have to share his food and even his clothes. Yes, it was better this way.

So why did he feel as though he’d been punched in the gut?

“Of course I hate to leave you on your own, Ross,” she said as though reading his mind. “But at least you won't have me in your hair!”

“I did say I was quite capable of cooking for myself,” he said curtly.

“Yes, yes you did, Ross,” she said softly. 

There was a way she’d come to say his name. So much emotion always managed to come out in how that one word--one syllable--was delivered. Now it was a sad sigh, which did nothing to assuage the discomfort he felt growing inside him. He looked away and without saying a word, retreated to the bedroom.

\-----

Since Demelza had her mobile back and could again listen to music on her own whenever she wanted, she’d taken to checking in with Ross before playing anything through the living room speakers. But today she put on Blondie without any warning at all. The opening guitar boomed through the walls and this time the drums seemed to vibrate through the floors.

“ _Call me, on the line, call me any, anytime...Call me, I’ll arrive, you can call me any day or night.._.” 

If Ross thought he’d get in a good sulk alone, he was mistaken. 

He opened the bedroom door again and saw Demelza in the midst of a furious bout of cleaning. Apparently she’d already done the bathroom, for the unmistakable stench of bleach came wafting out its open door. In the kitchen, the washing machine hummed--he assumed it was her towels and bed clothes, perhaps the clothing he’d lent her as well. A bin bag was bundled up by the front door, waiting to be taken to the rubbish chute outside by the lifts. And now she was mopping the hallway floor, moving backwards away from him, as though she was covering her tracks. Without looking up at him, she disappeared into the living room, where he imagined she was packing her few belongings into her gym bag. A few seconds later he heard her hoovering.

_She’ll leave no trace that she was even here._

He shook his head and rubbed his beard in consternation. He’d only known her eight days. His reaction was decidedly foolish.

 _The first thing I’ll do once she leaves is move the furniture back_ , he thought, as though it was some sort of revenge. Revenge against his own thoughts, maybe.

“ _Cover me with kisses, baby, Cover me with love. Roll me in designer sheets, I'll never get enough. Emotions come, I don't know why. Cover up love's alibi_ …”

But a minute later, the vacuum and the music stopped abruptly, and Demelza emerged from the living room, dressed in jeans and her own black t shirt. Her bag was at her feet and she held her trainers in her hand. Perhaps she was waiting for the floor to dry or else planned to put them on only just before she opened the flat door to leave forever.

“Thanks for these,” she said and he saw in her other hand she was holding the tub of moisturiser and the mobile charger.

“No, keep them,” he said. “They’re no use to me.” Again, he was aware that his tone sounded cold and distant.

“Okay, thanks. Listen, do you think I could borrow the book too? I’m almost done and it would kill me to…”

“I thought you finished the Marquez?”

“I did. Now I’m reading _The Plague_. Just a bit chillin’...subtle choice, Poldark. And I haven’t started the Churchill biography.”

“Yes, take them both. You can give them back to me some other time.”

“Thank you. And that would be lovely, Ross.”

“Would it?” he asked.

“Yes, when things are back to normal, we can meet at a pub. I’ll give you back your books and we can reminisce about the old days, when we were in the trenches together,” she said. “Like a couple of old war veterans.”

“I’d like that,” he said and this time felt confident his smile was sincere. But he was still trying to conceal a sadness. And if she didn't see it herself he didn't want to be the one to bring it up. No, he didn't really believe things would ever be _normal_ again. At least they’d never truly be the same.

“When are you expecting…”

“Mark? In about an hour, so we’ve some time if you want to play one last game of hockey?”

“No, but have a drink with me? That is, if you don't mind me trudging across these immaculate floors,” he said. It was almost a tease and she laughed so he knew his attempts at lightening the mood were appreciated.

“Yes, Ross. Do you want whisky…”

“Pour me whatever you’re having.”

Earlier she’d returned the chairs to the kitchen table so after she delivered Ross his wine--left at a safe distance as was their custom--she stood in the hallway and raised a glass to him.

“Would you prefer to sit?” he asked.

“No, this is fine. We can lean against the wall and pretend we are at some borin’ office do, tryin’ to get as much free wine as possible without really minglin’ with the higher ups.”

“Sounds spot on, like you have some experience with that,” he laughed.

“I’m a student--I’m always on the lookout for free booze, Ross!”

_Maybe that’s all this was to her. A few free meals, a few free drinks._

“I despise those work events,” he shuddered.

“I can see you would,” she said. “You do better with one on one interactions, don't you?”

“I suppose so,” he said, again admiring her perceptive abilities. “At bigger parties I like to find one mate to talk to and ignore everyone else.”

“Of course you do,” she laughed. “Well I'm honoured to have been such a one.”

“The honour was mine, Demelza,” he said. “I hope you know that I’ll miss you.”

“Really? Even though I left my hair in your drain and took over ⅔ of your flat?”

“You kept me fed.”

“With your own food!”

“And kept my spirits up.”

“With your _spirits_ , she laughed and held up the glass, proud of her pun. “Well, you did the same for me and I’ll miss you too, Ross. Bein’ stuck in my own room will be nice for about the first hour but I'm sure it will get old and lonely fast. Can I text you for a bedtime chat?”

“Of course. And you needn't wait for bedtime. Ring me anytime. We can zoom a drink together.”

“I thought you’d sworn off video this week?” she laughed.

“Not for friends. And you’ve already seen me at my worst,” he said and unwittingly rubbed his beard. As he’d suspected, it hadn't taken long for it to come in fully.

“Well I’ve grown rather fond of your glorious bed head, Ross,” she said. “It’s impressive.”

“Still, you'll be relieved to be in your own space.” He wanted to change the subject quickly before he imagined her long fingers running through his tousled morning hair. “How big is your flat?” he asked.

“Not big at all. Two small bedrooms, something the landlord calls a kitchen that I call a joke, bath with no tub, just a shower, and the tiniest lounge that’s really no bigger than your hallway. But I’ll need to stay in my room, won’t I? I mean, I should probably isolate there, away from them both, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, responsible people are taking such measures. But sadly not everyone is as cautious as we’ve been.” _Which means we’ll all have to do it longer_. “What about this Mark fellow...he’s not bothered to drive here and violate the order to stay in place?”

“He figures it counts as a necessary outin’ and since he’s just bringin’ me home and it will only be the two of us, with no contact with anyone else, we’ll be fine.”

Ross thought about Demelza alone with this strange man in the small car. A confined space, sharing the same air. He didn’t like it.

“I hope Keren thought to water my plants while I've been gone,” Demelza said. “I did remind her but she can be forgetful at times, especially if Mark is around. She gets so caught up in him. It's disturbin’ for such a smart girl. Did I tell you she’s an engineerin’ student?”

“You did,” he said. 

She'd told him so many stories over the past few days, about her mates, her brothers, other important figures in her life. All people Ross had never met--and most likely never would. But she hadn’t mentioned any boyfriends, not recent or even past ones. Ross found that curious, for surely she’d had some. Or many. He didn’t dare ask and instead tried to read the body language of the blokes in her photos. There were those who leaned in only a little, just to get in the frame properly. But other ones were all hands, using a photo op as an excuse to clutch and cling to her. One fellow in particular, with big brown eyes and loose sandy curls showed up in a few photos. It was obvious he was far more interested in Demelza than she was in him. The lad looked positively love-sick, in fact. How could she not notice?

“I think I’ll get some plants for this place,” Ross said, trying to steer his thoughts to something more cheering. Or at least more neutral. “Someday, I mean.” 

_When this is over, if this is ever over._

“You should! I think there's enough light in the livin’ room and in the kitchen if you hung somethin’. Or maybe do some herbs in the window?” She seemed excited by the prospect.

“Then again I do travel...but the service offers plant care too, along with cleaning. For a fee.” 

“Oh they're bilkin’ you then, Ross! Chargin’ you extra? You know if you just left a note for the cleaner, they’d do it for free. Most of us would.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said and wondered if she’d ever be round again to clean for him. Maybe it really would only be a few weeks before the entire workforce went back to their non essential jobs. He wondered how she would spend her time until then. “Is your flat sunny?” he asked suddenly.

“My room is--so I actually pay extra for that, can you believe it? I have three windows, just a view of the road though. And a bit of sky.”

“I thought you didn’t like sunshine?” he asked with a playful cock of his head and squint of his eye.

“Oh Ross! Don’t you dare tease,” she cried. “You understood what I meant, so don't pretend otherwise just to have a laugh.” Then she added softly, “I know you listen to me.”

“You’re right,” he said solemnly. They’d had this conversation before. The night of her birthday and then she’d been impressed by his attentiveness. And already it seemed so long ago. He took a sip from his glass, then he sniffed it.

“What’s wrong?” she said and stepped closer to him.

“Nothing.The glass--it smells like...well, like what I imagine your hands smell like?”

“The Jo Malone? Oh I’m sorry. That's terribly sloppy of me. I didn't mean to put so much on and certainly didn't mean to leave a trace on your glass. And I call myself a professional? You should fire me.”

“Not a chance. It's okay, really,” he said.

“I can't really seem to smell anythin’--or taste much--today. I think it's the effect of so much bleach,” she said. 

“It's rather pretty.” He sniffed again, then looked away with a quick jerk of his head. 

He’d been so disciplined today, ever since she announced she was leaving. This wasn't the time to once again muse about how she smelled or looked or laughed. None of that was his business. Maybe, just maybe in a few weeks time, he’d meet up with her again but he knew what to expect. He’d be just another bloke like the ones he’d seen in her photos.

Just then her mobile rang, so she gingerly placed her nearly empty glass on the floor and skipped into the living room to answer it.

“Oh,” he heard her say. It was just the one word but she put enough feeling into it--or he’d grown skilled at reading her tone--that he knew it wasn’t good news.

“Right then. No...of course. I’ll be fine. Ring me later and let me know how he’s...? Cheers, mate.”

She'd apparently rung off but didn't reemerge. Ross ventured closer and when he couldn't hear or see anything from the living room, he tiptoed into the territory just outside the door. Still keeping his distance, he was closer than he’d been since the night he helped her through her panic. Now he saw she was sitting on the sofa, her head in her hands.

“Oh hi, Ross,” she said without fully looking up.

“Demelza?” he asked.”Demelza…”

“Erm...he isn't comin’. Mark. He’s..well, he’s got a fever,” she said.

“Demelza,” Ross took one more step towards her and shook his head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I should be grateful for the timin’. If I’d gotten picked up and then only afterwards he showed signs...and I mean I'm here and he’s the one who’s sick, so what do I have to be complainin’ about?”

“You are so desperately trying to see the good in this. It's okay to be sad.”

“I'm not sad, well, just disappointed! For a few hours I was able to pretend everythin’ was okay. And I thought if I could go home...well I could keep pretendin’. I'm so sorry, Ross. You were probably lookin’ forward to havin’ your space back and now…”

“Don't be ridiculous. You can stay here forever, Demelza,” he said quickly. “And in truth I would have missed you, had you left.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I told you I would.” How could she not know this? Hadn’t she believed him?

This time she looked up at him with wet eyes. “Oh Ross,” she said then buried her face in her hands again, no longer trying to conceal her sobs.

Ross panicked. There was nothing he could do. He wanted more than anything to just take her in his arms. To hold her in such a tight embrace and expel all the sadness and fear from her lungs. To put his lips to her head and whisper in her ear. He was confident he could soothe her. He knew he could.

Or was it he was desperate for her to soothe him?

“I’m sorry. Just look at me. What a mess!” She wiped her eyes and tried to laugh.

“Demelza, it’s good to cry,” he said. “You know that.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved him away with her hand. “It’s all just bio-chemistry. Emotional tears release endorphins that reduce pain and alleviate stress thus we are calmed down…”

He laughed lightly. “You don't have to pretend in front of me, you know.”

“I know, Ross.” 

He stood silently knowing that’s what she needed. Just a moment to catch her breath, to let the endorphins do their work. And to understand he was there.

“I wish…”

“Yes?” he said. He was going to tease her again about her earlier wish for rainy skies but saw this wasn't the time. She was vulnerable and she was reaching out to him.

“I wish I could give you a hug, Ross.”

“Me too,” he said. 

This time he didn't look away. He wasn't embarrassed or confused and he felt it in his chest, not below his belt. It was a genuine exchange between them and he needn’t dissect it further to determine what she really meant. 

She meant what she said--she wanted to hug him, and in that moment he knew that human touch was something he missed more than anything.

“Come, Demelza. Let’s get you another glass of wine then you tell me what film we’re going to watch tonight.”

“No, it's your turn Ross so let's go with 'The Seventh Samurai',” she said.

 _“'Seven_ Samurai',” he corrected her with a hearty laugh that rang through the flat. “You must be thinking of Bergman's 'The _Seventh_ Seal'.

“Oh must I?” she laughed back. “Bergman...Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics to Blondie’s “Call Me” written by Debbie Harry & Georgio Moroder. Listen to it and get all the proper copyright information here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StKVS0eI85I


	8. Only Living Boy in New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve said before that this story isn’t really set in any specified place, just not Seattle and not Cornwall. Also not New York despite the title of this chapter.
> 
> “The Only Living Boy In New York” lyrics by Paul Simon © Universal Music Publishing Group. Listen to this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5biEjyXNa2o

“Ross?” Demelza called. “I left your lunch tray in the DMZ. Whenever you’re ready, it will keep.”

Out of reflex, Ross glanced at his wrist to check the time, then realised he hadn’t worn a watch in close to a week. Instead he reached for his mobile, not sure where the morning--and his productivity--had gone. He used to get more done in a single hour than he’d been managing most days working remotely. It wasn’t just him but his colleagues as well, and in today’s conference call he just hadn’t the heart to tell them to step up their game.

No, better they stay safe and connected to their loved ones. Grace Energy was last on anyone’s list of priorities. Even his.

Ross stepped into the quiet hallway and saw Demelza had left an artfully arranged plate for him. Toasted camembert on baguette, a few slices of cured meats, olives, a small hunk of manchego cheese and half a pear. She’d also made him a pot of hot tea.

“Looks perfect. Just like you'd get at your favourite charcuterie,” he said, hoping she could hear him wherever she was.

“And have you one?” Demelza asked, coming to the living room doorway. “A favourite charcuterie?”

“I do now,” he laughed. “Demelza, aren’t you having any?”

“Maybe later, Ross. I’m feelin’ tired today. I was up at three and then again at four and didn’t really fall back asleep until seven.”

“Then you should have slept in instead of making me breakfast at eight,” he chided.

“Well I can practically make an egg in my sleep,” she said. “Besides, I can lounge around all day--it’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere. And feedin’ you is the only real fixed thing on my schedule so I’ve no excuses for bein’ late to work. The boss might fire me.” She tried to laugh but it seemed too much of an effort.

He looked at her. She was still wearing her pajamas--his pajamas--and her hair was knotted in a messy bun. He’d never know her to be too tired to eat but he saw a new weariness in her face today.

“Go nap then,” he ordered but his voice was kind. He wished he could do more now to take the burden off her but it wouldn’t be long. Five more days and then he could bring her a cup of tea or even breakfast in bed.

A thought hit him and he took a moment to connect the dots. She’d made him an egg for breakfast but it must have been their last one--she’d mentioned that earlier. So what had she eaten? He tried to recall and decided it must have been just toast. And now she was skipping lunch. Ross had no idea what their pantry stores looked like and while he knew she was thrifty--and proud of it--he had assumed she would be honest if they were running out of food.

_Would she really mislead me?_

\----

At dinner that evening Ross watched carefully to see how much pasta Demelza put into her own bowl and how heartily she ate it. It wasn’t quite her usual lusty appetite but he was satisfied for the time being anyway. Still he decided to ask.

“Demelza this is good, as usual but…”

“But?” she asked tentatively.

“No, let me rephrase that. I continue to be amazed at your skillful creations but need to ask how are we doing for food?”

“Not so good, Ross.” She put down her fork and hung her head as though she’d done something wrong. “We’re running low and all deliveries are booked three weeks out. Currently there are 1500 people ahead of us in the queue.” 

“What about my standing scheduled delivery?” he asked.

“Turns out you did cancel it when you took your trip, Ross. You just got the dates wrong--or they did--and it was this week’s that was cancelled.” She looked at him now and sighed.

“Are you serious? Good god!” he cried.

“Oh Ross, even so, I checked what they had in stock. Which is almost nothin’ so there’s no point gettin’ upset.”

“Well it won't do to have you sacrificing to keep me fed,” he grumbled.

“You make me sound much more valiant and noble than I am. Really, I wasn't that hungry at lunch, not enough to bother.”

“So what do we have?” he asked.

“Oh we've a little more pasta, some odd packets of sauces, and a few more tins of tuna--and we’ve potatoes too. You seem to get loads of potatoes delivered, Ross, but you never cook them, do you?”

“No, I suppose I don't.”

“Well that’s to our advantage then. We’ll manage, Ross. It just won't be as flavourful... or as much.” 

Now she was soothing him. How had that happened? Just moments before he’d been attempting to cheer her. He’d have to try harder.

“Demelza, if you could have any food right now what would you choose?” he asked.

“To eat or to cook?” Intrigued, she was taking his bait.

“Either.”

“Hmm,” she thought for a minute. “Well, I had a really good monkfish a few weeks ago. Done with rosemary. It was at a Spanish restaurant. I'd like to try to make that,” she said.

“Spanish restaurant. Was it a date?” he teased.

“Well, yes it was, Ross. But not a very memorable one, if you must know.” 

“So the only thing worth recalling about that night was...?”

“Yes, Ross?” she said, looking straight at him, her face impassive. Then the serious expression broke and she flashed that alluring smile he’d come to know well. “Yes, only the fish was notable. Wow, that was the last time I ate out, come to think of it.”

Ross inhaled.

What would it be like to be out with her, as her date? No doubt all eyes would be on her as she walked through the crowded restaurant to their table. Maybe he’d have his hand on her arm to let her know he was there---or to let others know she was with him. He’d settle in just a few feet across from her or maybe they'd been seated at a cosy banquette and he’d be next to her, close enough to touch her again. To whisper conspiratorially with her. 

She’d have a hard time making up her mind so they’d order a few things to share. “Oh try this, Ross,” she’d say and lift a forkful up from her plate once their food arrived so he might have a taste. After he’d taken her offering, he’d pause and grab her wrist as she still held the fork aloft. She’d laugh and he'd reach out and cover her other hand with his, weaving his fingers between hers. She’d squeeze his hand tightly and look up into his eyes--the smile would be gone and her eyes would burn with an intensity. They’d both remember this moment years later. He’d then raise their clasped hands to his lips.

“I love you, Ross,” she’d say, but it would be in a voice so soft that only he’d hear.

“I love you too,” he’d reply. They’d paused, their hearts connecting in the private space they'd carved out in the crowded restaurant, as waitstaff and customers bustled around them. They’d take comfort knowing what waited for them later, when they'd get home and could finally be alone. He’d gaze at her neck, desperate to put his mouth to it. She’d bite her lip in anticipation and look at him again.

“My love?” He’d see her glass was nearly empty and pour her more wine from the bottle left on the table. But they'd both no longer have any interest in food or wine or even conversation. He’d lean his forehead into hers and inhale.

“And you? What would you want?” Demelza asked from her end of the hallway. “Ross?” Whether any of Ross’s wild imaginings had been visible on his face, he didn’t know. But she did cock her head gently while looking at him, as though she’d caught something--and was concerned.

“Oh I don't know…” He exhaled and scrambled to get his thoughts ordered. Quickly. “Maybe a rare steak. But for you--monkfish, is it?”

“No. if I’m really honest, Ross,” she said, “I want fried chicken. Greasy, salty, heavenly fried anythin’...or maybe a burger. I’m not really one for junk food but I’ve been cravin’ some these past few days. I suppose it’s not uncommon to long for what we can't have.”

_Yes, we long for what we can't have._

“Is it better not to talk about it?” he dared to ask.

“No, it’s fun to dream, don’t you think?”

\----

“Well, that might be promising,” Ross switched off his mobile, then cocked his head to listen to the Simon & Garfunkel Demelza had put on. 

“ _Hey, I've got nothing to do today but smile_ …” 

Well, that sounded about right.

“Good call. Is this another from your plague playlist?” Ross laughed.

“Yes?” Demelza asked, waiting for more on Ross’s phone call. She was standing in the hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen as though she couldn't decide her next move. Ross was afraid to ask her about lunch that day. He’d been fine with another day of toast for breakfast--they seemed to have enough butter and jam at least. He’d also carefully watched her to be sure she’d eaten her share.

“I was just now speaking to an old friend of my father’s,” he explained.

“Your father the Black Sheep?”

“Yes, this is his mate, Tholly,” Ross explained. “A somewhat blacker sleep.”

“Tholly? Sounds like a pirate’s name,” she laughed.

“Well, he’s not exactly always on this side of the law,” Ross admitted.

“Ross?” She folded her arms and leaned against the wall. She was waiting.

“Tholly knows someone…”

She raised a brow.

“Who is opening his shop at select times to select clientele.”

“Select?”

“Yes.”

“And what does he sell, this _someone?_ ”

“Anything one needs apparently,” he said.

“Let me guess. For a price?”

“For a price.”

“Okay then,” she sighed. “Tell me where and I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not!” Ross’s voice was firm and dark. “It’s out of the question!”

“Oh?” she said, staring him down. There was something in her eyes that told him to choose his words carefully. 

“It’s not safe,” he tried.

“And how would you know that, Ross? You haven’t been outside in ten days,” she laughed.

“I mean we can’t know if it’s safe. And besides, I don’t want you exposed to anything.”

“Me? Oh come on! And the whole point behind the distancin’ is not just to limit _my_ potential exposure but to prevent me from passin’ somethin’ to someone else. You’re thinkin’ backwards.”

“I’m backwards?” he quipped. “And how is that an argument for me letting you go?”

“ _Lettin’_ me?” Her left brow was getting quite the work out that morning. “Okay Ross, tell me again why you’ve been limitin’ yourself to one room only in your own flat?“ 

“Demelza…”

“Because you’re worried about bein’ a carrier even though you show no signs of bein’ sick.”

“Yes, I’d been travelling in a zone with an outbreak and we can’t take any chances.”

“Oh Ross, you can't have it _both_ ways--no actually there are three options. You’re gonna have to choose. Either you let me go and expose me to the possibility of danger but you can be secure knowin’ you kept to your isolation and didn't needlessly expose anyone else. Or you go, and protect me or whatever you think you're doin’ but then in protectin’ me, you’d potentially put others in danger.”

“What?” He shook his head impatiently.

“There’s just no way to be the hero here, Ross!”

“You said three,” Ross said. “What’s your third option?”

“Neither of us goes and we wait until we can get a delivery scheduled.” 

“And I let us both starve?”

“We are far from starvin’. We can make this work, we’d just have to adjust and yes, we’d be a little hungry but not actually life-threatenin' starvation. I think we need some perspective!”

He stopped for a moment and wondered if she'd ever known real hunger. That was one thing she never talked about--her childhood with her alcoholic father. He had assumed there had been some sort of neglect but perhaps there had been more.

“Well…” he said.

“Ross, maybe there’s some other way. What are other people doin’? Can we at least agree to think more about this?”

“Yes, Demelza.”

“Look I’m goin’ to go take a bath. Do you need anythin’ before…?”

“No, go on. There are some eucalyptus bath salts in the cupboard. Use them if you'd like.”

“Thank you Ross. I would like that very much,” she said softly. She turned and sang along with the music wafting through the flat.

“ _Hey let your honesty shine, shine, shine now_

_Do-n-do-d-do-n-do_

_Like it shines on me_

_The only living boy in New York,_

_The only living boy in New York_ …”

\---

“Demelza? A little help here!” Ross called.

“Ross!” Demelza cried as he slipped through the door and laid a large box of groceries down in the hallway. Without saying another word, he kicked off his shoes then headed straight to the bathroom to wash his hands.

“It's not everything we need but it will help for the next week or so...” he began when he returned, holding a bleach-soaked rag. He proceeded to wipe down the door handle where he had touched it, then for good measure, he also cleaned other parts of the door frame that he hadn’t.

“I can't believe you went ahead and left. Without even tellin’ me.” She shook her head and there was a bit of extra breath in words. Was it a scoff? A sneer?

Ross looked at her and saw that she was upset with him. It certainly looked more like irritation than worry. Whatever it was, it caught him off guard, and he found himself impatient to end any argument before it began.

“You must see that I had no choice,” he said and took the rag back to the bathroom. The bleach quickly overpowered the smell of eucalyptus that had lingered from Demelza's bath. It was enough to make him gag. He stepped back in the hallway to see she was staring at him, her eyes crackling with electricity. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he said.

“No choice?” she repeated. “I just thought...I _thought_ we were in this together but my opinion means so little to you?”

“Oh you know that's not what this is about!” he snapped. 

He’d just navigated the eerily abandoned city streets and managed to come back with actual provisions. He was sorry if she felt left out but this wasn’t a time for sensitivity and delicate emotional negotiations. And it was likely this maneuver would need to be repeated in a week or two. How much more will things have deteriorated by then?

“So you makin’ a pig-headed, impulsive move after we agreed to think more on it, means what? Yes please, tell me, Ross, just _what_ is it about?” she shot back.

“Look, it's done. How does it serve us to dissect this?”

“So we don't even talk about it now? You decide that too? And _serve_ us? What the hell does that even mean?”

“I can see you’re hurt.”

“No, Ross. I’m not hurt. I’m angry. With you, in case that part somehow got lost.”

"I did what needed doing. There's little point being angry about that.” He shook his head and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Demelza, you are welcome here but this is still my flat. I'm sorry if that’s too harsh for you...maybe your feelings about this set up or about me have changed…”

“I don't have any _feelin’s_ about you!” She turned and marched off. 

He was quite certain that if the living room still had a door, it would have been slammed with a feroce intensity. Instead she threw something to the floor--her shoes? A book? Something of his? He couldn't tell but he did hear her grunt. Then maybe groan.

It occurred to him that it was possible she was crying. Well, that was just perfect and not at all what he needed. 

He still felt uneasy, shaken really, after his excursion out into this new world. He tried as best as he could to push away the thought that things would remain this way. The streets swere empty save the shadowy figures who appeared now and then. Those who wandered close enough shot him dodgy glances. And then there were the nearly gutted shelves--and exorbitant prices.

Still he’d gotten what they required-- _they_ \--for it what she required as well. He wasn't just looking out for himself anymore. Couldn’t she see that? Why was she being so stubborn?

Ross stared at the shopping still sitting on the hallway floor. He’d already slipped one thing--what he now saw as a very foolish impulse buy--in his coat pocket but the rest would need to be put away. He doubted she’d be doing it anytime soon. How long would she hold out?

“Damnit, Demelza!” he muttered to himself and slammed the bathroom door. Maybe he’d feel better after a shower. He’d feel less contaminated in any event. He knew it was all in his head but he couldn't shake the feeling that he’d brought some danger into the house. He’d prefer to burn his clothes if he had the chance.

But there was something else he was feeling that he couldn't quite understand, something that made him think the shower might need to be a cool one. 

After his heated exchange with Demelza, he was feeling a little turned on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh so very many lines (especially the argument) have been borrowed with tender admiration from Winston Graham's novels and Debbie Horsfield's scripts.


	9. A World That's Torn and Tattered

The afternoon seemed to drag on indefinitely. More than once Ross attempted to concentrate on Grace Energy business but found he was too tired so he tossed the laptop aside and stretched out on the bed instead. Still he was too agitated to sleep, too unfocused to read. Was this what he had to look forward to for the next few days?

He was also starting to feel more than a little hungry. He’d slipped out for his “errand” before lunch and after their row, didn't really feel as though he could ask Demelza to make him a sandwich. Nor did he want to break his own rules and enter the kitchen himself. Now in his frustration he did something he'd never done during a workday. He poured himself a glass of whisky and stared at the wall. 

_She’ll need a proper apology,_ he thought _. But you’re only thinking this because you’re hungry. What sort of pathetic, dishonest fool are you?_

He took a sip from his glass but suddenly smelled something else besides the peaty malt. 

Bacon.

Demelza was cooking but just what did that mean? On the one hand it must mean dinner but what did she have in mind? Ross realised he wasn’t hungry for food but for her company, and the idea that she might still deprive him of that made his gut ache.

Then he heard music coming from the living room speakers. Did this signal the end of the silent treatment? He strained to listen then gave in and opened the door.

“ _Mama says truth is all that matters...lying and deceiving is a sin…_ ”

It was an inspired choice. The melody was bittersweet but Bryan Ferry’s sexy croon was a private invitation of sorts. One Ross accepted eagerly.

He stepped into the hallway and ran his fingers through his hair.

“This will be ready soon, Ross,” Demelza called, perhaps sensing he was there. She didn't turn around.

“It smells heavenly.”

“Does it?” she said almost absently but moved about the kitchen with grace, ease. He felt he would have read tension in her form had it still been there.

“ _Living for the moment, lips and lashes...Will I ever find my way again_?”

“What happened to your vow of only listening to music from 1985 or earlier?” He teased, knowing he was taking a chance.

“Check it,” she said simply.

He pulled out his mobile and laughed. 1985. She’d been right.

“Okay, Poldark, here you go…” She ladled something into a bowl. When she turned he could see her eyes looked tired, her nose and lips raw. If she’d spent her afternoon napping or crying, he couldn’t say. 

She shouldn’t have been alone.

He imagined her lying next to him in the bed, a lazy afternoon for them both. She’d be stretched out with her book, leaning on one elbow. Occasionally she’d rub her cold bare foot against his warm hairy one. Or perhaps she’d lie against his chest and he’d wrap one arm around her, trying to do all his typing with his other free hand. Eventually he’d give up the laptop and close his eyes. Their breathing would soon be in sync and they'd stay that way until the afternoon sun started to fade.

But no, they were both alone. And the distance between them could no longer be measured in feet apart—or days until they could touch. His idiocy had caused it to be even greater still.

“I’m sorry Demelza,” he said suddenly and stepped towards her. 

She furrowed her brow and silently waved him back to his chair by the bedroom. He walked backwards but didn't take his eyes off her. She set the bowl down and turned back to the kitchen. A minute later she emerged with her own dish and took her seat facing him.

He exhaled. She’d come back to him--or at least she wasn’t leaving him to eat alone.

“Demelza?” he started again. 

From across the room he saw her mouth tremble. A tender kiss--on her cheek or on her temple--would do a better job of conveying what he felt. Instead he’d need to fumble for words. 

“I’m sorry--for everything. I see I should have at least given you some warning. So you wouldn't worry where I was.”

“Oh Ross, you suddenly were just gone and you didn't answer your mobile!” she said and he heard the worry in her voice as if she was reliving the moment. “You have no idea how terrifyin’ it was. And you were away so long.”

“It was farther than I thought.”

“How did you get there?” she asked.

“I drove. But even then I ended up walking close to a mile. Tholly’s directions weren't exactly solid.”

“You have a car?”

“Yes I keep it in the garage downstairs.”

“Oh. All this time, I didn’t know you had a car.” She took a slurp from her spoon while she processed this new information.

“Demelza,” he said. “If Mark recovers--I mean _when_ \--I can drive you home. Or somewhere else. We only have to wait just a few more days until you and I can be in closer range.”

“A few more days? Ross, don’t you have to start your isolation all over since you went out in public?”

“No,” he said at once. Start over? Was she mad?

“But you didn't wear gloves, you didn't wear a mask.”

“I spoke to no one, I was close to no one. The man in the shop was behind glass. I only touched the door handle and one button when I paid with my credit card. No pen.”

“And then you touched your steerin’ wheel, your gear shift, the car door, the garage door, the buttons in the lift, the door of the flat…”

“And I washed my hands straightaway. I even took a shower.”

She thought this over for a minute.

“Or you could just take it--the car, I mean--if there was somewhere else you’d rather be…” He regretted saying it as soon as the words had left his mouth and prayed he’d managed to get his tone right with the offering. He most certainly did not want her gone--he’d told her that before--but was willing to do whatever he could to help her. 

“Well, I don’t have anywhere else to go so let’s see how Mark does. And if Keren stays healthy. But it will be weeks until we know about them, so it’s not worth thinkin’ about, is it?”

“No.”

It was a promising sign that she wasn’t chomping at the bit to get away from him. That she hadn’t already rung some other mate with a couch to crash on. 

“Demelza, this is good,” he said, pointing to his bowl. “You know how I love your soups.” He wasn’t trying to charm her and looked up with earnest eyes. Eyes that were also dark and vulnerable.

“It's just potato--I started it earlier,” she explained but didn't put any sarcastic emphasis on the fact that she'd been cooking while he was out disregarding her opinion. “But I added a little bacon to make it more...substantial.” And he accepted that as a veiled appreciation for the bacon he’d brought home from his mission.

“And it is. Did you use the milk I bought?” he asked.

“Yes but just a bit.”

“Good, it's meant for your coffee. I thought you've been missing it since you've been here.”

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned milk on your first day and I assumed that meant you’d like some yourself.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she said, then bit her lip. “And...this is awkward but... thanks also for the...erm...tampons.”

“Well you haven't said anything but I figured you'd be in need at some point.”

“Indeed I will Ross.”

“I know little of these things. Are they...?”

“Yes, Ross, they're the right sort.” She laughed and for the first time that whole day he felt her warmth was with him again. 

He thought about his other secret purchase, one he’d regretted once he returned home and saw what a mess he’d made of things. But perhaps there was some hope still. He hadn’t really mistaken their connection all these days, had he?

“I’m sorry Demelza,” he said again and put down his spoon to look her in the eye from across the hallway. “I want you to know that. This might have been my flat but now it's _our_ space. And I couldn’t have made it these past days without you here.”

“Oh you’d have been fine,” she said but he saw she was concealing a soft smile.

“I should have listened to you, consulted with you. You of all people didn't deserve that. I won't ever again disregard your opinion...”

“Oh Ross. I know that you think that--and you believe it--but I also know you a bit now, don’t I? And you are goin’ to--at some point--do somethin’ impulsive again. It's your nature.”

He didn't refute her accusation--it was more of an observation--because he couldn't. She was right. And in a flash he was struck by the profundity of what she'd just said. 

_I know you, I accept you, I’m not asking you to change._ Was that not, in its own very genuine way, a declaration of love in one of its many forms?

He exhaled again and looked at her.

“Still I should have checked if there was anything in particular you wanted me to look for,” he said.

“I'm sure you got what you could. It doesn't matter what we wanted if the shelves were bare. Whatever we have, we'll make it work.”

“Of course you will, Demelza,” he laughed lightly. “I know _you_ a bit now. And I'm confident you will work miracles and make the best of it...It's your nature.”

“Ross, what did it feel like? To walk, I mean…”

“It was strange to be out,” he replied and thought for a minute about it. The roads and the pavement were so deserted yet knowing behind closed doors were thousands--millions of people. Some scared and lonely. Others were tucked away with someone they loved. “But the exercise, to finally stretch my legs, felt good.”

“And the wind on your face?”

“I'm not going to lie. The misty rain and the fresh air was wonderful too.” He’d never referred to the city air as fresh before.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“You miss that, don’t you?”

“Bein’ outdoors? Feelin’ the breeze? Yes, Ross…”

“Demelza,” he said suddenly. “Go get your gloves--your marigolds.” A thought had just come to him and he hadn't wasted a second to weigh it fully. She was right--he would act impulsively again. Only this time it was for her sake. 

“What? Why?”

“Just do it. Put your shoes on and meet me by the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the lovely mymusingsfromtheheart for the Bryan Ferry suggestion. “Don't Stop The Dance” written and produced by Bryan Ferry and Rhett Davies (from the album Boys And Girls). Listen to it hear: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjhTHQhJLxs
> 
> (Provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group, ℗ 1999 Virgin Records Ltd)
> 
> Ross's idiocy is legend and in Winston Graham's novels (Warleggan) and the series he tries to make up for it with garters/stockings and jewelry. I borrowed that sentiment here but admit milk, bacon, and tampons aren't quite as romantic. Still I am, as always, appreciative to WG & DH for these characters.


	10. Worry

“Okay you go first,” Ross said and waited while Demelza’s yellow sheathed fingers undid the lock. 

She stepped tentatively into the quiet hallway outside the flat then stopped abruptly. “Which way?” she asked over her shoulder. Her eyes shimmered with both excitement and worry.

“Left...No! Right.” Better to not take the lift. Too small, too confined a space. “Are you up for a few flights of stairs?” he asked and pulled the door of the flat shut behind him. He compulsively felt his pocket twice to be sure he had the key. She didn't say anything but watched him do it, seemingly soothed by the gesture.

“Erm...how many flights?” She’d reached the heavy fire door at the end of the corridor furthest from Ross’s flat and again looked to him for guidance. He nodded, encouraging her to push it open to the stairwell beyond.

“Only seven,” he said. “Are you too tired for that?”

“No, exercise will do me good. Really, Ross, I haven't stepped foot out of your flat for ten days. You’ve even taken all the rubbish out to the chute so there’s been no need, nowhere for me to go. This is quite frankly an adventure!”

He waited until she'd gone a few steps up ahead of him then followed, careful to match her pace and maintain his distance.

The empty stairwell smelled vaguely of piss. He tried not to inhale too deeply and hoped no one was living rough in there. While his heart went out to anyone without a permanent shelter in such times, he wasn't in the mood to meet another soul at the moment. He didn't know if Demelza caught the stench or was just unbothered by it. Knowing her, she'd probably invite such a stranger back to their flat for a meal and a shower. 

_Their_ flat. Well, that was an interesting slip. 

“This is so...so surreal, Ross!” she whispered. It was almost a giggle.

“You know Demelza, when I was out earlier, it just seemed _wrong._ ” He knew he was taking a chance bringing this up, yet felt strangely confident that the storm had passed, that she wouldn’t bristle at the mention of his earlier mission.

“Wrong?” She turned and flashed a coy sort of smile. “Is that so, Ross?” she laughed. She’d been so restrained in not saying ‘I told you so’. 

Ross also noticed she was just a little out of breath and they'd only gone up one flight. 

“Yes, well I haven't driven an automobile in nearly three weeks so that in itself felt foreign. But there was also...well, to be away from you after so many days. To be on my own. Does that sound…”

“Strange? Hardly. If you add them up, we’ve spent quite a few hours together! But maybe it felt nice to have a little space and time to yourself?” she said.

 _I have nothing but space apart from her_ , he thought. _But maybe she doesn't see it that way._

“Do you, Demelza?” he asked. “Do you wish you had more time or space…”

“No!” she snorted. “As much as I'd like to take a walk or even ride a bus or the Underground, I’m really lucky, Ross. I told you, my flat is tiny so I actually have more room bein’ with you here than at home. And you’re better company than Keren--and Mark.”

“Compliment accepted,” he said. “Assuming it was meant…”

“Oh it was. How much further?”

“Not too much..are you okay?” He should have sent her up in the elevator alone then met her at the top.

“I’m fine, just soft and lazy after ten days of loungin’. We should do this more often. Just like goin’ to the gym.”

“You must never do this alone!” His voice had turned dark and firm, the tone that always seemed to slip out when he was worried. And he was--worried about her and her well-being.

“Ross, is this even allowed?” 

He’d been caught off guard by her sudden question and his deep laugh rang out in the empty stairwell, overpowering his apprehension for just a moment.

“I didn't have you pegged as such a rule follower, Demelza,” he said. “Yes, it's allowed. As a resident of this building I am allowed access, as long as I don’t have a party up there.”

“Does anyone do that? Have parties I mean...”

“Not that I know of. Or maybe it happens frequently just I haven’t been invited?” he said, thinking again how it was that he knew no other residents in the building. “It’s monitored by CCTV, although I wonder if…” He didn’t finish the sentence. 

When he’d gone out earlier he’d come and gone through the garage so he saw no one. No doubt the desk in the front lobby hadn’t been staffed in weeks. Was there any security presence in the building at all? Ross wasn’t exactly concerned for safety’s sake--he just wanted to better understand how alone, how abandoned they really were.

Ross stopped for a moment and listened. On the other side of these walls were people, families, couples holed up together. How were they faring? Were they happy, quarreling, scared--sick? He could hear nothing--no muffled voices, no water rushing through pipes, no obnoxious basslines booming from speakers--nothing but the sound of Demelza’s footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

“Is your rent expensive?” she asked. “Or have I no business askin’ that? This city is simply ridiculous so if anyone can afford to live alone in such a nice flat, well, I’m just curious.” 

“You have a right to ask and I’m rather sure it's a matter of public record if you really wanted to know. I suppose I could find somewhere cheaper but it never really mattered to me before. When I relocated here from Cornwall, I sort of took the first place the estate agent showed me and never looked back.”

“So Grace Energy is doin’ well?” she asked.

“At least up until a few weeks ago,” he laughed.

“Oh Ross, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have…”

“Oh that’s alright.”

_I have nothing to complain about and need to remind myself of that more often._

“So does ‘Ross the Boss’ drive a flash car?” she teased.

“Hardly. It's a hybrid. In my business I need to keep up a certain image,” he replied.

“Oh right--it wouldn't do to peddle renewable energy and drive some petrol guzzler.”

“Well, what use is money to me now anyway? It's not like I can go on holiday or eat at fancy restaurants,” he lamented.

_And I have no one to spend it on._

“Well if you were really wealthy, Ross, you could afford helicopters out of the city and hire private concierge doctors.”

“I’m afraid Demelza, that's another level of wealth _far_ removed from me,” he laughed. 

“Still...you’ve smart shoes and clothes. I’ve seen your closet.”

“You have?” Of course, no secrets were safe from a cleaner. “Anyway it hardly matters if I own nice clothes since I’ve nowhere to go and have exclusively been wearing these track pants for days on end.”

“It’s a good look on you,” she looked over her shoulder and smiled. He almost believed her.

“Or if I’d gotten expensive haircuts since my hair is ridiculously long now,” he went on.

“Oh hush. Those unruly curls are boyishly charmin’...”

“Boyishly charming? That bad, huh?” he replied.

“If it bothers you that much just wait a couple of days and I’ll cut it for you,” she replied and he imagined she was rolling her eyes.

“You can do that?”

“Yes, I used to cut my brothers’ hair all the time. I’m not bad,” she said. “Look, Ross, your money keeps you safe in this flat and pays for black market bacon and expensive loo rolls--how much did you pay for those anyway? And it means, as an already tidy fellow, you book a cleaner to come every week without battin’ an eyelash at the expense so…”

“So?”

“So, Ross, your good fortune is mine by extension.”

“Do you regret I didn’t just lend you my car on the first day you were stranded? he asked.

“No,” she said quickly, “Do you? I'd have been stuck in my flat with a sick person!”

“A _symptomatic_ person. For all we know, I could still be…” he reminded her.

“Anyway you didn't know me then.” She brushed away his last statement and paused to think this over more. “Would you really have handed your car keys over to a total stranger?”

He hadn’t quite been paying attention so when she’d stopped climbing, his careful attempts at maintaining a distance were thwarted for a moment. He found himself eye level right with her lovely backside.

“You have an honest face,” he said, trying to look away but mesmerised by the curves he’d been admiring for ten days. They were still alluring even though tonight she was wearing baggy flannel pajama bottoms, rolled at both the waist and the cuffs. 

“My face is up here,” she laughed. “That is a load of bollocks, Ross, and you know it. Did you ever lend Prudie your car? I didn’t think so.”

“One more flight,” he said, hoping she couldn't see his embarrassment. 

Was he really such a predictable arsehole, leering for days on end at the fresh young body in front of him? Maybe not. His admiration for Demelza had grown over time and he was just as taken by her stories or her laugh or the stray hairs around her temple than her enticing flesh. But did she know that?

 _I know you listen to me, Ross_. Did she not say those very words to him? 

“Here we are, Demelza,” he said as she approached the heavy door before them. “Go on, I’m right behind you.”

“But will it...does it lock?”

“My key works in it so we won’t get trapped. Do you need me to show you?” he asked gently and patted his pocket where she’d seen him deposit the key earlier. It wasn’t a tease--he seemed to sense she had a new anxiety about venturing out in this new world.

“No, I trust you. Okay,” she laughed and pushed open the door and disappeared through it.

Taking the steps two at a time now, he raced to the door and followed her out into the evening.


	11. Hope

“Oh Ross!” Demelza cried as he emerged onto the roof behind her. Her loose hair fanned around her from the gusts, and even from six feet away Ross could see her smiling eyes glisten.

“Do you like it?” he asked and was pleasantly reminded that to be heard over the wind rattling in their ears, they’d need to speak louder than if they were inside. A light mist left from an earlier rain filled the air and cooled their thirsty skin.

“Oh it’s brilliant! Simply...Oh Ross!” She threw her arms out to her sides and took in a deep breath. 

Ross tried not to count in his head how long she could hold it. It didn't seem very long to him.

“Of course this view isn’t exactly inspired,” he said. “Not much better than an alleyway.” This first level of the rooftop just beyond the stairwell consisted of brick walls on three sides and a huge metal air shaft and fan on the fourth. 

“Am I really such a fine lady that I require a scenic vista? I’m rather fond of alleys if you must know.” She laughed and he knew she was thoroughly enjoying the outdoor space regardless of the aesthetics.

“There’s even more if you’re up to it.” He pointed to the iron ladder fastened to the brick behind them.

“Oh?” she asked. “I’m not overly fond of heights…”

“Me neither but it’s fenced in up there so you won't go over the sides, I promise. And we’ll be able to see more of the city. I can go first if you’d like?”

“Okay,” she smiled and once again closed her eyes and sighed in appreciation of the air rushing around her.

“We should have done this earlier. I don’t know why I didn't think of it,” he said as he climbed the ladder. It wasn’t very high--about 4 metres--but the rungs were slick from rain and he could feel his feet slip under him. He moved slowly and when he was about half way up he beckoned her to follow.

“Just keep your eyes in front to you and don’t look around--or down,” he called. He continued up to the top rung, then relying on his arm strength for support, swung his right leg wide, maneuvering carefully to avoid getting his track pants wet, as he stepped on to the flat surface in front of him. It was covered with black roofing felt and the wet bituminous layer sparkled in the evening light.

Ross heard her trainers squeak on the ladder and hovered anxiously waiting for her to arrive at the top. He knew he should give her space but was immediately glad he hadn’t, for just as she emerged at the top, her glove slipped on the wet rung and she almost lost her balance.

“Demelza!” he cried. In a flash, he reached for her free hand and steadied her. And then without letting go, he helped her up to her feet.

He felt her fingers, safely encased in the yellow latex, weave between his. She squeezed his hand tightly and looked up into his eyes--the smile was gone and her eyes burned with an intensity. Later, they’d both remember this moment. 

“Thank you, Ross,” she finally spoke. “You’d think the gloves would give me a better grip…”

“I did promise you I wouldn't let you fall,” he said. Reluctantly he took one step backwards but he still didn’t let go of her hand. She stretched out her arm and leaned towards him to signal she had no pressing desire to break the clasp either.

Despite the light rain that lingered intermittently, it was a lovely evening, and just beyond the rooftops, they could see the sun sinking into a cloud of dusky pink.

“The sky!” she sighed. “I wonder if you can see any stars, when it’s dark I mean. Do you suppose there are fewer lights in the city now?”

“I couldn’t say,” he said. “Do you want to wait? It’s only another hour or so until the sun sets fully…" He could feel the life and warmth that coursed from her hand, even though he wasn’t touching her skin. 

“No, let’s just enjoy this moment,” she smiled.

With their arms outstretched, he imagined they were frozen in a dance move and that she’d come twirling in towards him. It would be so easy to pull her close then, to first wrap one arm then the other around her. He’d dip her low then pull her up to her feet. They’d sway back and forth together, her cheek against his. 

She squeezed his hand again and his arm vibrated with longing, his body straining against his will. Then she looked up into his eyes and bit her lip. 

“This isn’t quite far enough apart, is it, Ross?” she said.

“No, Demelza,” he said and swallowed hard. Slowly he let her yellow hand slip from his. Where he’d found the strength to let her go, he couldn’t say. He looked at his feet but felt like falling to his knees in anguish. “But it felt good--to hold your hand,” he added. This time he dared to look up.

“It did, Ross,” she said softly. “You have a strong grip. Somehow I knew you would.” She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed again. 

“Are you cold?” he asked anxiously. Perhaps she was trying to self-soothe after losing the small shred of comfort he’d only been able to offer her briefly. 

“No, Ross. The cool air feels nice--it reminds me I’m alive. Even though there are forces that don’t give a toss about me. The rain will fall and the wind will continue whether I’m here or not…”

“You need to stop reading Camus. I’ll pick something more cheering next time.”

“Dostoevsky?” she said, confident he’d laugh.

He did, then turned towards the chain wire fence at the western edge of the roof.

“Here’s your grand vista, my lady,” he said and invited her to come closer.

“It looks like such a lovely city from up here, doesn't it? Almost foreign...I was supposed to go to Paris in May. Did I tell you that? I’d been lookin’ forward to that for nearly six months.”

“No, you hadn’t.”

“I had to cancel of course, but I didn't get a refund. Just a credit to use later in the year.”

“I’m sorry, it must be hard to lose something you’d been hoping for…”

“Hope? Yes...well now I have loads to look forward, don’t I? This all bein’ over, goin’ back to school, my holiday. Whenever ‘later in the year’ ends up bein’...” There was just a touch of sadness in her voice, as though she was working hard to convince herself.

“Demelza, if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” It had become a favourite sort of game between them. 

_It's fun to dream, isn’t it?_ she’d said to him just the day before. Maybe he could cheer her and distract himself from how unsettled he still felt after letting go of her hand. Once again he’d need to rely on dreams.

“Honestly Ross? Don’t laugh but...I think I’d choose right here,” she said.

“Here? You were just talking about Paris…” he chuckled and shook his head. She was so unpredictable. Or was she?

“Well, the way I see it, it’s all about calibration.”

“That sounds technical,” he replied but nodded for her to continue.

“Calibratin’ our expectations. Taking stock of what we truly have and then we’re surprised at how many delights are actually right in front of us when previously we thought the world just wasn’t enough. I mean an hour ago I thought I’d never feel the wind again so now that I’m out here, I’d better appreciate it instead of dreamin’ of Paris or Monaco or wherever.”

“Monaco?”

“You know...Casablanca?” she explained.

“Morocco,” he gently corrected.

“What did I say?”

“Monaco.” 

“Really? I do know the difference. You know that, right?”

“Of course you do,” he laughed. “Well an hour ago I wasn’t sure you’d ever speak to me again,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Side wise glances, a little self-deprecation, lip licking, sheepish smiles. Yes, he knew he was doing it--he was bringing out the charm.

“Oh Ross, don’t be ridiculous. I’d miss hearin’ myself talk and I don’t really have that much conviction--not enough to stay away.”

“ _You?_ Lacking conviction? Oh Demelza!” he chuckled. 

“Well Ross,” she laughed. “As I was sayin’...” She cleared her throat playfully. “People come _here_ for holidays so we should look around us and be grateful we’re already here. And this is a lovely evenin’ and the view is brilliant.”

“And the company?” he asked. “Do you like the company?”

“I could learn to like the company.” She shrugged then winked. Oh, she was beating him at his own game. 

_Expert level flirt._

“Is that so?” He put his hands in pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet.

“Is it particularly hard for you, Ross?” she asked, watching him intently. “Stayin’ six feet away? I imagine you’re a rather physical person.” 

“A what?” he sputtered. Good god, was she aware of all he’d been thinking about her these past few days?

“I mean,” she said, cocking her head trying to puzzle out his flustered reaction, “You talk with your hands so much, you like to touch things and fidget--I know, I’ve been watchin’ you--so is it hard to not have any contact with any other human? I’m talkin’ about even just the small touches, like kissing your aunt hello or shaking someone’s hand?”

“Yes, it is,” he said, ”Though I'm not sure I miss my aunt’s chin whiskers.”

“It’s just another thing we take for granted,” she sighed.

“Chin whiskers?”

“No, human touch.” She waved her hand like she would have swatted him had he been closer--and he gladly would have accepted it. Like kids on the playground, finding any excuse to touch one another.

“You know, I lived with a bloke for almost six months and I’m nor sure I could recall any _single_ touch from him,” she said. “I mean of course we touched--we slept together but…” 

Something caught in Ross’s throat and he struggled to clear it. As much as he’d previously thought he was curious about Demelza’s love life, to hear the words coming from her own mouth—and while she was out with _him_ on _their_ roof—set him on edge. He would never admit it but he was jealous. The signs were unmistakable.

“Six months?” he managed to say. He was interested to hear more details but also desperate to end the conversation.

“Maybe more like five and three quarters months...it didn't end well,” she laughed.

“Oh?”

“Malcolm was attentive and performed all the required boyfriend gestures well enough, at first anyway, so I impulsively moved in with him. The flat was really way more than either of us could afford but he insisted…”

“But after five and three quarters months?”

She sighed then shook her head in mild disgust. “He was a cop--no, sorry a _detective_ and damn, was he proud of that distinction! You’d think it would have made him more observant, more perceptive? But I always felt he was a little too interested in himself and not others, certainly not me. Not for who I really was.”

“But at some point you realised that about him?” Of course she would have. 

“Oh yes, I remember the moment clearly. We were goin’ to dinner at a colleague’s--some bloke senior in rank so Malcolm was very keen to impress him. I’d made this absolutely stunnin’ key lime pie I was so proud of and just as we were about to walk in, Malcolm whispered to me ‘Don't mention you’re a cleaner.’ Just like that. And then I was supposed to walk in, all smiles, and be what? An ornament, I suppose?”

“Ouch.”

“Have you ever seen the old film _Heartburn_?”

“Is that a film noir?” he asked. “Does it have Barbara Stanwyck in it?”

“No,” she laughed. “Meryl Streep. It’s like 80’s--Nora Ephron. Anyway, there's a scene at the end where she’s at a dinner party after learnin’ Jack Nicholson’s been cheatin’ again, so she smashes a pie--a key lime pie--right in his face. But she does it so coolly. No histrionics. Just asks for the car keys after she does it. Fuck, all night I thought of that scene.”

“And did you...?”

“No, he’d never let me drive his car. And I didn't want to waste the pie. But the next day I answered an advert in the newspaper--an engineerin’ student was lookin’ for a flatmate--and three days later I moved in with Keren and left DC McNeil alone in his very impressive flat that he then had to pay for entirely by himself. Not that I ever had much to contribute. Funny how my cleaner wages were good enough for him when my half of the rent was due.”

“And you being a student whilst he was a fully employed professional--he still actually asked you to pay half? I would never dream…” 

“Not everyone is as kind hearted as you, Ross,” she interrupted.

“Kind hearted? It wasn't that long ago you were calling me pig headed,” he teased. 

But his mind and heart was racing at the thought of sharing—properly, by intention, and not by coincidence—a flat with her. She’d fit so well into his life and he’d do anything for her to keep her safe and comfortable and happy. They’d already proven themselves to be agreeable companions and while it was another aspect of their relationship they’d been unable to explore, Ross suspected that they’d be brilliant lovers.

 _Good god I want her_ , he thought and tried to catch his breath. He had to trust he was four, almost three days away from such a reality.

“I'm fairly certain a body can be both,” she said softly. “Anyway I never looked back.”

 _That’s my good fortune_ , he was about to say but found he had a lump in his throat. “Well, I too am appreciative of this fine evening,” he finally said. “Beginning with a most elegant dinner.” 

“ _Someone’s_ takin’ the piss…Ross, it was potato soup! Elegant dinner?” she snorted. 

“Exactly that. And with a charming companion at my favourite restaurant. Brilliant conversation then a quiet walk in the spring mist,” he went on, knowing she was loving it. Now he was playing her game.

“Brilliant? Quiet mist? You make it sound romantic. Okay, Ross, I amend my earlier declaration. The only thing that would make tonight better is if I could hold your hand again. Without the silly glove.”

“I’d like that, Demelza,” he said as softly as he could over the wind rustling around them. “Very much.”

“Ross? What is it?” she asked, her eyes trying to read his face. “You look, I don’t know, worried or happy...or both?”

He was both. So worried about the world around them and at the thought they’d never be together properly. Afraid of what she felt--or didn’t feel--for him. And yet so happy when he was with her, in whatever way he could. 

_Half agony, half hope._

“I want...I want to kiss you, Demelza,” he said.

It was the sort of thing he might blurt out if tipsy, inspired by a few glasses of wine. But he was quite sober--and he had no regrets. Now it was out there, hanging in the air, waiting for her response. Would she accept it warmly or would she grow uncomfortable, embarrassed, or even angry. 

“Is that all?” she laughed. “ _Just_ a kiss?”

He had to laugh too. Her joy, her smile were contagious.

“A minute ago you were telling me how we need to be grateful for what we have and not waste our lives longing for more--and now a kiss isn’t good enough for you?” He shook his head playfully. But his heart was alive, thumping in his chest so loudly he was sure he could hear it over the rustling wind.

“I’m just bein’ honest with you Ross. I don't think I'd be able to stop myself after only one kiss. No matter my... _conviction_.” Her lips were parted slightly and she looked at him with the same expression of anxious happiness he’d been wearing only moments before.

“Demelza,” he said and instinctively took a step towards her, then balled his hands into fists. Did it make things easier or worse knowing she wanted him too? He closed his eyes and sighed. “I hope you know, I wouldn’t want you to stop.”

“I do. Just a few more days, Ross,” she said gently. “It will go quickly, you’ll see.”

“I know,” he replied and his mind spun trying to think of anything to say to change the subject. But it was impossible to ignore the thrill that raced through him at the thought of her kisses on his skin. He touched his brow, damp from the rain, wishing it had been from her lips. “We should come up here, more often. Next time we’ll bring a bottle of wine.”

He thought about standing next to her, close enough to clink glasses. They’d toast the evening stars and he’d wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She’d rest her head on his shoulder while the wind whipped her soft hair up into his face. It would stick to his lips and she’d laugh, brushing her hands against his mouth to regain control of the wild tresses. He’d kiss her fingers before they got away, then settle his forehead against hers, moving closer still so he could feel her lashes on his cheek. They’d share each other's warmth as they clung to each other in the chilly spring night.

“Ross, darlin’, try not to touch your face,” she said, summoning him back to her. 

Over the past ten days, she’d called him teasing names--Dark Lord was her favourite--but this was the first time she’d ever called him that. _Darling_. It didn’t feel like a casual add-on but had heft. 

This was no longer a one-sided daydream.

“Do you think we should be wearin’ masks? I know it's just us now but we could have run into someone...I never worried about it before since we...since I hadn’t gone out. I can make us some,” she added.

“Of course you can,” he smiled.

“And Prudie left another pair of gloves in the airing cupboard. You should wear those next time.”

“I will,” he said. “Demelza, you’re shivering. We should go in now.” 

_Since I can’t warm you myself._

“Yes, Ross.”

\----

Ross had suggested she take the lift, but Demelza rejected the idea and insisted that they both walk down together. Ross suspected she was still a bit anxious to be alone outside the confines of the flat. 

They didn’t speak much during the trip back but in no way did it feel uncomfortable. They’d been talking for nearly two hours straight--perhaps it had really been ten days--and they knew that such organic conversation had rhythms. Sometimes it was animated, rapid fire. Sometimes it was slower but more reflective, more personal. Sometimes it was the playful banter they seemed to have perfected quickly, and sometimes, like now, there were quiet pauses. Silent spaces between the words that allowed them to fully understand all the edges of meaning. Now was a time for such a respite since they’d finally broached an important topic. 

It had really happened--they’d admitted their mutual admiration for each other. Now she knew how he felt. And she’d told him she wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to have him. Perhaps the box of Durex condoms he’d picked up that very day had not been a foolish indulgence after all but a strategic move.

And it wasn’t just physical attraction between them either. They’d formed a connection, a bond, and the emotions around it were just now crystalising. With each passing hour they were becoming a ‘we’.

As expected, the trip down was less arduous than the climb up had been. Ross was relieved they remained alone in the stairwell and it seemed likely they’d been able to complete the adventure without meeting anyone else. He was also relieved that Demelza sounded less winded than she had an hour before. Still he listened carefully to each of her breaths, as he had been for the past two days. In return she watched him and clucked gently every time he was tempted to touch his face again. Never had his eyes or his beard felt so itchy to him.

Once they were back at the flat door, he considered pretending he’d lost the key but thought better of teasing her about whatever anxieties she was allowing to surface. Instead he unlocked the door with a flourish and coaxed her to go in first.

They understood the drill. Ross went first to wash his hands--he knew Demelza would be timing him to make sure he did a thorough job. When he was done, he wiped down the door, the handle, the lock. When it was her turn she removed her gloves and soaked them in hot soapy water then washed her hands for good measure.

“Ross, wipe down your key too,” she reminded him. 

Ross had grown to despise the smell of bleach. It was the scentscape of this whole nightmare and it never seemed to leave his nostrils. He thought he’d prefer the old piss in the stairwell or the noxious petrol in the garage to the odor of bleach and other products they used to sterilise. It was the smell of both desperation and of a false sense of security.

And it was hard to know the limits. What were the protocols one should enact to be safe and what was over the top? If Ross started to really imagine the microscopic contagion and all the places it could be lingering, he’d be overwhelmed. He needed to remind himself that every protective gesture was just about lowering chances, not eliminating risk altogether.

“Demelza, love? Would you like a drink?" he called to her. She’d felt compelled to change her clothes, out of what she jokingly referred to as her ‘day pajamas’ and into as her ‘night pajamas’.

“Oh, Ross, I’m sorry.” She popped her head through the doorway and gave him an apologetic smile.“I think I might want to go to bed now.” 

“It’s rather early--are you tired?” he asked, careful to modulate his voice to disguise any worry.

“A bit. But the truth is I want to close my eyes and think about how the wind felt on my face before I forget all the details. And, Ross, the sooner I fall asleep, the sooner it will be tomorrow. And that’s one day closer to when we can…” She paused and Ross held his breath wondering what exactly she’d say next. “Well, then it will be easier for us, won’t it?”

“Good night, Demelza,” he said and switched off the hall light. “And thank you.”

“For what?” she laughed. “It’s me that should be thankin’ you! I'm not sure I gave you anythin’ but grief today.”

“For everything,” he said softly. He hated to let her go but he closed the bedroom door and put yet another barrier between them.

Ross wasn’t sleepy and now his mind and his heart raced as he stretched out in his bed. For days he’d had his dreams of her to keep him company, but now they seemed like torture. He’d have to try not to think of her at all but immediately he found he was lonely. It was a different way of being alone than he’d experienced over the past ten days--or the past ten years. 

He poured himself a drink then reluctantly turned to his laptop to watch the news.

\----

Ross had been asleep for hours when noises in the flat woke him. Footsteps but also a crash, as though someone had dropped something on the tile floor, followed by grunts. Or were they groans?

He was on his feet and outside the bathroom before he’d really opened his eyes. He didn’t switch on the hall light but knocked gently on the door which had been left ajar.

“Demelza? Everything okay? Can you not sleep?” he called gently.

“Mmm, Ross.” It sounded almost like a whimper. Instantly the hairs on his neck stood up, his arms tightened. He pushed the door open and saw her standing before the cupboard, leaning on the sink for support. 

She turned and gave him a desperate look. Her eyes were wide, her face grey, the fine hairs around her forehead were damp. 

“What is it?” he asked and took a step into the room.

“No! Stay back!” she barked. “Just tell me...I can’t find it...I know I saw it…”

“What, love? Tell me what are you looking for?” He thought maybe she was sleep walking then knew in a flash of reason, that she was wide awake. 

Hope was gone.

“Your thermometer,” she gulped. “I think I have a fever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be overly fond of heights either but I am a sucker for the “helping each other climb a ladder” trope. Thanks for indulging me here.
> 
> Of course the line ”half agony, half hope” is borrowed with admiration and respect from Jane Austen’s Captain Wentworth in Persuasion. I thought it summarized not only Ross’s torment before he knows if love is going to be returned to him but also the conflicting feelings we might be experiencing now--trying desperately to have hope for the future, while constantly wrestling with worry and despair.
> 
> As usual I borrowed bits of dialogue from from Debbie Horsfield’s script (“Do you like me?”).
> 
> Lastly, please maintain appropriate distancing and safety protocols, good readers, and don’t look to these two fictional idiots as examples. Check out the WHO’s recommendations for more guidance.  
> https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/technical-guidance/infection-prevention-and-control


	12. Chicken Soup: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fiction and I hope it is not deemed as irresponsible in any way. I do not claim to be an expert on anything--I can only draw on what I have read and even that advice changes from day to day. If something strikes you as incorrect or unwise, I apologize in advance. A link to WHO’s recommendations for more guidance is included at the end.
> 
> Also if this chapter is too angsty for you, you can skip it and come back later. I promise you won’t be lost when the dust settles.

\----

The warm sand felt good under Ross’s bare feet. He always liked the way his skin grew smooth and soft after a summer of walking along the beach. Yet another way in which life by the sea was restorative.

“Is the sun too much for you, my love? You should have brought a hat,” he said, raising his voice just a little to be heard. He’d prefer to keep it to a whisper but their ears were full with the summer sounds around them. Overhead gulls screamed. To his right was the hush of gentle waves rolling in, far to his left the wind rustled the tall dune grasses. 

“It surely would have been blown away,” Demelza laughed, her ginger curls whipping across her face.

He looked out and saw the sea was suddenly covered with straw bonnets, hundreds and hundreds of them, stripped from beautiful Cornish heads over the centuries and tossed on the waves by the wind. Now they bobbed on the water like sea birds.

“I’d chase it down for you,” he promised solemnly. 

“For what e'er drifts from one place, is with the tide to another brought. And there's naught lost beyond recall which cannot be found if sought,” she sang. 

_I know that verse_ , he thought. He sighed contentedly and lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss, tasting the salt on her skin. Her hand was pink from the sun and warm--so very warm. Maybe even hot. Then it slipped from his grip altogether as he walked on without her.

“Demelza?” he called into the wind.

“I can’t leave them, I can’t, I can’t,” she cried in anguish, her eyes brimming with tears he knew would be as salty as the sea air. Foamy surf rushed around her feet--feet that had become buried in the wet sand--while she stood frozen before a small tide pool. Ross couldn’t make out the tiny slithering creatures in it--fish perhaps but from a distance they resembled small dragons. Fiery and colourful in their scales, swimming wildly, futilely. 

“Demelza, the tide!” he called to her. “It’s coming in fast.” Minutes before the shoreline was calm, now high tide was crashing in closer and closer. Then Ross turned and looked beyond them, further down the beach.

A dark mob had emerged. Throngs of folk but they moved as one black mass--in shadow and in mood. Ross could hear their collective roar. Angry, murderous, armed with pick axes and sticks--and headed towards them.

“Demelza!” he shouted. “We have to go, now. Come with me, my love.”

“No, Ross, they’ll be lost…”

“Take my hand!”

“Ross!” she cried. But the danger had moved closer now. There was no longer a way to outrun the shadows. She was unwilling and unable to move and he had to go on without her.

“Demelza!” he called. 

Ross woke with a start and as he sat up abruptly, hit his head on the wall. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the dark flat--he was on the floor outside the living room door with only the red power light from the television to ground him. He pulled his blanket closer around him, his pillow had somehow migrated across the hallway. He didn't need to check the time; it was still hours before dawn.

The past three days had been difficult but the nights, like this one, had been the worst. 

When Demelza first revealed she was feeling poorly, Ross had tried his best to remain calm, coolly offering directives. She took the paracetamol tablets as he ordered and went back to bed with a bottle of water and an ice pack they found buried in the back of the freezer. Despite these interventions, her fever remained at 38.9°C, and while Ross had hoped it would come down over the course of the night, at least it hadn’t gone higher. And while he might have appeared steady and supportive, it was nothing short of terror that coursed through his veins.

That first night he went back to his room but had been unable to settle, and every twenty minutes or so found him on his feet, hovering outside the living room watching her toss and turn in misery on the sofa. He hesitated to speak to her, to wake her in case she’d managed to find sleep--but without doing so or touching her, he had no way of monitoring her status. All he could do was watch her, and from what he observed, he knew she was distressed. But how bad was it?

_Good, god! What have I done to her?_

And yet, surprisingly, when the next morning finally arrived, Demelza reported she felt somewhat better. Still wobbly and tired, it seemed as though she was again almost functional. She changed her clothes, did gentle stretches on the living room carpet, texted some friends, and was even thinking clearly enough that she tried reading for a while. 

“I made you lunch, well sort of,” Ross said, laying a laden tray at the living room doorway. “And don’t tell me you haven’t an appetite.”

“Yeah not really but don’t say it--I know--I need to keep up my strength. Well, well, Poldark! I see I’ve been usurped in the kitchen.” She managed a dry and raspy laugh that was welcome all the same. Thankfully she still wasn’t coughing.

“Hardly. It’s _your_ chicken soup--the batch you wisely made when you first arrived--I’ve only heated it. And made toast. But it’s been so long since I’ve been allowed in my own kitchen that I almost lost my bearings.” He’d tried to sound light but was afraid the dark circles under his eyes might betray his inner humour, which was unmistakably grey.

“Oh, you found Prudie’s extra gloves, good,” she said as she came closer to the door and scanned his protective attire. “But what’s that you’re wearin’ on your face, Ross?”

“It was a sock but now it’s a mask. I made it myself--made you one too.”

“What?” she sputtered in surprise.

“Well, Miss Carne, you’re not the only one who can watch DIY videos,” he smiled and tossed her one of his homemade creations, then stepped back a few feet to give her space. “I think they will work better than handkerchiefs--and I could only find one of those anyway and it was really more of a pocket square. Don’t worry--before that was a mask it was a _clean_ sock.”

“Oh Ross,” she said, and fingered the mask tenderly. “I’m impressed. You’re such a hero in all this…”

“Hero?” He shook his head and looked away. “Demelza, providing us with the bare minimum of protective gear is about the very least I could do since I’m responsible for...” he began darkly.

“No, Ross! You can’t know that,” she interrupted at once. “And think about it--this most likely isn’t from you. We know Mark is sick and probably Keren is too.”

“You still haven't heard from her?” he asked.

“No, she's not answerin’ her mobile or my texts. But I probably got it from them--or I’m the one who gave it to them! Who knows? Maybe I got it from the drunk bloke at the pub who tried to give me a St. Patrick’s Day kiss or some woman who sat next to me on the bus...or anywhere! And Ross, I might still pass it to you.”

“Demelza…”

“But really...this probably is not _from_ you,” she said firmly.

“Well, we can’t know, can we?” he replied, but inwardly had to agree that her assessment was somewhat plausible.

“Maybe it isn’t even what we think it is,” she said hopefully. “I’m feelin’ so much better today already.”

But cruelly, later that afternoon the symptoms--fever, headaches, chills--came back and the night that followed was as fraught as the first. The next day, and the one after that, followed the same relentless pattern.

And the pain might have been hers alone but they both suffered together, sharing the crushing anxiety, their fragile daytime hope repeatedly dashed with the setting sun.

So far Demelza’s breathing had remained steady enough. She was short of breath but no more so than if she suffered from allergies or even a common cold. At first she’d been encouraged that she could hold her breath for more than ten seconds but then read that wasn’t in fact a reliable indicator of lung health. Still, her breathing wasn’t so laboured that it could be considered “compromised” and she had not developed a cough.

 _But is this the night she’ll deteriorate?_ Ross fretted every evening, and while he said nothing of his worries to her, he knew she shared this fear.

“If you need me--and can’t call out for whatever reason--ring this bell,” he’d told her. 

It was a large blue jingle bell that had been sewn on to the toe of a Christmas stocking. Miraculously he’d remembered he’d stuffed it in a drawer months ago. Glitter, buttons, some other felt cutouts, and a handwritten note-- _Happy Christmas, Uncle Ross_ \--had also adorned it when it had arrived by post last December. A gift from Francis and Elizabeth’s young son, though clearly it had been Elizabeth’s handiwork for it was far too skilled to be that of a five year old child. Why exactly had Ross bothered to save it? He suspected it was out of guilt for not visiting the Cornwall Poldarks at Christmas. But whatever the reason, he was glad he had it now. Ross yanked off the bell to keep then happily binned the stocking--along with the candy cane still stuck inside it.

 _At least she hasn’t had to ring it yet_ , he thought. 

By the third night, Ross had dragged his duvet and pillows into the hallway and camped out on the floor, realising he’d only be able to sleep if he was close enough to hear her breathe. The hard wooden floor hadn’t provided the most comfortable sleep but it was, as he’d hoped, less interrupted. And it was important that he get some rest even if she couldn’t, for exhaustion only made his anxiety worse. Anxiety that hung in the air like its own form of contagion, filling his lungs, pressing down on his chest until his own breathing was laboured. 

When was the last time he’d felt this way? He recalled a time when as a boy, probably around ten years old, he’d crawled into bed with his parents after watching some film that had upset him. What even was it that he’d watched? Nothing horrific, just disturbing enough to trouble his sleep and render him unable to face all the dark thoughts that suddenly crept from the shadows in his room.

Ross had been pleased his father remained asleep. “You're too old for this sort of nonsense, boy,” Joshua would have no doubt said. But his mum just wrapped her arms around him and held Ross close, breathing softly into his ear. 

“It feels like something is sitting on my chest,” he explained to her, burying his face in her belly, trying to hold back the tears.

“Stay as long as you need to, my darling Ross,” she’d said. “I’m here.” But she hadn’t been there much longer after that night. Did Grace Poldark already know she was dying or had her illness come on her suddenly? Ross hadn’t thought to ask his father when he was still alive and now he’d never know. It was a loss he didn’t allow himself to think about much in his adult life.

“Ross?” Demelza called softly from the living room sofa. “That you?”

He rubbed his head wondering if the bang on the wall he’d woken her, and rose to his feet.

“I’m here, Demelza,” he called out. _My darling Demelza_. “Are you in need…?”

“No, no. There’s nothin' you can do,” she said. 

He could see she was shivering even though she was covered in extra blankets

 _So tonight it’s the chills again,_ he thought. She’d had them for three nights in a row along with aches. And of course the fever. 

“Nonsense, I’ll get you another blanket. Maybe something warmer to wear--a jumper?” He felt a stab of sadness that she was no longer sleeping nude--not that he missed her beautiful bare body but that she could no longer feel so free in her own skin.

“Really, Ross. Go back to sleep. Please.”

 _She’s right. I can’t help her,_ he thought. _There’s nothing I can do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please maintain appropriate distancing and safety protocols, good readers, and don’t look to these two fictional idiots as examples. Check out the WHO’s recommendations for more guidance.  
> https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/technical-guidance/infection-prevention-and-control
> 
> “For what e'er drifts from one place/Is with the tide to another brought/And there's naught lost beyond recall/ Which cannot be found/If sought”-- you most likely will recognize as the Anne Dudely lyrics from “How The Tide Rushes In” (based on For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto another brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.” by Edmund Spenser, from The Faerie Queene).
> 
> Thanks to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield for these characters!


	13. The Rain Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fiction and I hope it is not deemed as irresponsible in any way. I do not claim to be an expert on anything--I can only draw on what I have read and even that advice changes from day to day. If something strikes you as incorrect or unwise--and there is plenty that is unwise in here--I apologize in advance. A link to WHO’s recommendations for more guidance is included at the end.
> 
> Also if this chapter is too angsty/too much for you, you can skip it and come back for the next one. I promise you won’t be lost when the dust settles.

\----

“You are doing everything you can, mate,” Dwight told Ross. Ross had managed to reach his old friend and despite the doctor’s overwhelming patient load at the hospital, Dwight had graciously squeezed in a Facetime chat with Demelza to ask her all the pertinent questions. “Video examinations are the standard of care these days,” Dwight assured Ross afterwards. “And unless her symptoms worsen, she’s best at home. It will take some days--no two patients follow the same time table--fourteen days seems the average for mild cases. But Ross,” Dwight added, “you must keep up your distancing. From what you both report you’ve been disciplined. This isn’t the time to stop that.”

“Of course,” Ross replied and rang off.

For some time now it had pained Ross that he was unable to touch Demelza. That had been before, in their days of playful conversation--and once he admitted he longed to kiss her. But now that he was watching her suffer, it was far worse. To deny the healing touch seemed counter to his human instincts. But who needed the healing touch more--him or her?

And while it was difficult for him to just leave a tray at the living room door and back away, at least she was an adult and understood the reasoning behind such precautions. 

How hard it must be for a parent to keep apart from a sick child? A ten year old might cognitively understand but would still be sad and scared. But what about a toddler? An infant? He imagined how much worse it would be to watch your dying child from behind inches of thick glass than to hold her in your arms while she left this earth, left you. And now parents weren't even allowed on the wards to watch, were they? One status phone call per family per day. Poor Dwight and his colleagues at deathbeds every day, taking on that extraordinary emotional burden for strangers.

 _Come on Poldark,_ he chastised himself. _Enough of these morbid thoughts. You’re here with her now and this gloom, this anxiety won't help her._

\---

Sometimes in her half-waking state, Demelza would speak. Sort of confused or fantastical notions, but Ross refused to consider it delirium since she mostly seemed to know where she was and that he was there too, 

“I’m makin’ a potion,” she said to him the third day of her indisposition. 

Ross had been sitting in the dim hallway outside the living room, trying to work on his laptop, but mostly he’d just been watching her toss and turn on the sofa. It was evening--the sun had finally set fully--and she’d been asleep for a few hours.

“Are you now?” he answered gently.

“Yes, it’s for the spaces between,” she said. Even in the dark he could see her eyes were open. No longer asleep, but perhaps she was still dreaming.

“Demelza?” he asked. His voice was a soft whisper. Since he couldn't stroke her hair or kiss her brow, it would have to do.

“Where the old one leaves off and before the new one begins,” she continued matter-of-factly. The leather beneath her creaked as she rolled on her side and she was quiet again.

“Sounds like you have a plan, my love,” he said gently.

Another time she sat bolt upright and began lacing up her trainers.

“Where are you off to then?” Ross asked, his tall frame hovering at the doorway. Over the past few days, his “territory” in the hallway had crept closer and closer to hers. He no longer adhered to the strict boundaries they had set when she first arrived, although he never fully stepped over the living room threshold--as tempting as it was to rush in to care for her.

“The queue will be frightfully long if we don’t get there soon,” she said. “Better bring rain gear too. It will most likely rain again before mornin’.”

“Okay, where are we going, Demelza?”

She said nothing but furrowed her brow in deepest concentration, then put both feet to the floor. But she still didn't dare stand up. She leaned forward for just a minute and in a flash Ross was afraid she’d fall over. He hitched a breath and gripped the doorframe in agony.

Then she sighed and laughed lightly.

“Goin’? I’m goin’ back to sleep, Ross.” She reached behind her for her pillow, then without removing her shoes, stretched out on the sofa again, and closed her eyes.

Had she not been sick--and had everything not been so uncertain--he might have found these outbursts amusing. His cousin Francis used to talk in his sleep and when they were kids, Ross and Verity would often goad him on until finally their hysterical giggles woke the boy. Poor Francis would look around confused but always caught on quickly that whatever had just happened, he was the butt of the joke. 

But over the course of several nights Ross no longer found any humour in Demelza’s incoherent mutterings. Friday she’d gone to sleep as soon as she’d begun feeling poorly as she did most afternoons, and by nightfall she was calling out again--this time in distress. Ross raced down the hallway without switching on the light. 

She seemed asleep, at least her eyes remained closed. Her arms were over her head, fists clenched, and her loose hair spilled out over her pillow.

“Julia,” she cried fitfully. “Where’s Julia?”

“Shh, shh, Demelza, I’m here,” Ross said anxiously.

“Where’s Julia? I can’t find her.” 

“Demelza, love. You’re here in the flat. You’ve been asleep a long while.”

 _And Julia’s been gone for years._ He didn't dare remind her how long it had been since she lost her childhood friend.

“Oh Ross,” she sobbed. Her eyes were open now and wet with tears that couldn’t be contained. Soon they would be rolling down her hot cheeks. “Ross,” she said again, and he exhaled a long sigh in response.

 _At least she knows I’m here_ , he thought with relief. It was a cold comfort.

“But I wasn’t with her,” she said softly. 

“Drink some water, my love,” he coaxed gently. Tears formed in his own eyes having felt her anguish so keenly. “Remember you need to stay hydrated.” It was hardly an effective consolation, but what else could he say? 

“Yes, water,” she muttered dreamily but did as she was told and drank a few great gulps from the bottle next to the sofa. She put her hands to her face as if to gauge her temperature but he couldn’t tell from her expression what she made of it.

“Do you have the thermometer? Can you still read it yourself?” he asked. If she couldn't, he wasn’t sure what was to be done. What could he do? He felt himself pacing in the small confines outside the living room doorway. The need to be doing something was overwhelming--without an occupation he’d surely go mad--but all he could do was stand there and watch.

“No, it feels ‘bout the same. I took paracetamol earlier but I don’t know what time it is now,” she said weakly.

“It's almost ten--time for another dose. Go ahead,” he tried to reassure her. 

She reached for the blister pack, then with trembling fingers, popped out two tablets and drank yet another gulp of water.

 _Well at least we have no shortage of paracetamol in the flat. It’s something to be grateful for,_ he told himself. Wouldn’t that be what Demelza would say? She’d be looking for something positive to focus on. _But it’s only enough as long as she recovers and I don’t fall ill_. Ross couldn’t resist adding a gloomy coda. A reminder of his previous cynical state, his frame of mind before Demelza’s light moved into his flat and into his life. 

In that moment he realised just how much he missed her company, her cheering perspective, her reliable smile. She’d changed everything, hadn’t she?

“I’ll get you more water--would you like an ice pack too?”

“No, nothin’ worse than an ice pack when you’ve got the chills,” she tried to laugh.

“Maybe just try to rest,” Ross offered.

She shifted on the sofa and tried to suppress a groan as she was reminded how her body ached. Ross had grown accustomed to her usual energy--she had a little inner engine, always on the go, always humming. Now she sounded like a lost kitten.

“Hopefully the paracetamol will ease the pain as well,” he said. Sleeping on the hard leather sofa that was also not quite long enough for her frame certainly wasn’t helping.

“I suppose I must stink after so many nights of sweatin’...” She didn’t come out and admit she still had no sense of smell.

“Why don’t I run a bath for you? Are you up for that?” 

“Okay,” she said faintly. “A bath does sound nice. Maybe I’ll finally be able to get warm.“ 

\---

“How is it? Not too hot?” Ross asked through the door. He would have preferred to leave it ajar so he could more easily check on her but recognised she’d want her privacy. 

“Lovely--just what I needed to ease all this tension,” she called out to him. He strained to hear the bath water slosh about and imagined her body relaxing as it slipped down under the surface. At the thought he felt his own muscles unclench somewhat.

It suddenly grew so very quiet. Standing alone in the kitchen, Ross was aware of all the inner workings of the flat, its secret life beyond the inhabitants. The heat switched on with a rhythmic hiss, a floor board squeaked under foot, then water ran in a pipe, perhaps in the flat above. It was the first time he’d heard it since they’d been locked down.

 _Of course we’re not alone in this apartment block,_ he reminded himself. But without Demelza he felt like he was very much alone in the world.

He wasn’t watching the clock but it seemed as though Demelza had stayed in the tub for some time. Surely the bath water would have cooled significantly by now. 

“Demelza? You’re not asleep in there are you?” he called softly from the hallway. There was no answer. He moved closer to the door and listened. No splashes, no sighing--all was still.

He knocked lightly then without waiting for a response offered a more insistent pound on the door. Still nothing.

With an urgent jerk, he pushed the door open. Demelza’s body was slumped low in the tub but her head still rested against the cool tile and hadn’t sunk below the surface. Her eyes had been closed but she must have registered his presence and sat up with a gasp.

“No, no, Demelza. You can’t fall asleep in the bath. Let’s get you to bed, then,” Ross said, and without hesitation strode across the room towards her. 

And just like that, he abandoned all the distancing protocols they’d internalised for the past two weeks. He bent close to check on her in the tub, satisfied that she hadn't slipped under the bathwater and was still breathing. Then instead of lingering on her bare body, he snapped a towel off the rack. 

She was trying to keep her eyes open but seemed to have a hard time focusing.

“Come on, darling, let me help you.” He reached down for her hand which she gave willingly, even though neither of them were now gloved. He averted his eyes while she tried to stand up and when he sensed she wasn’t steady on her feet, he reached under her arm to lift her. Naked and dripping, she looked at him dumbly while he wrapped the towel around her. He’d managed to keep his voice from sounding urgent but his actions--quick and firm--were.

“Wait here,” he said and sat her on the toilet. A moment later he returned with his flannel robe and after he rubbed her vigorously with another towel, he pulled the robe around her. 

She didn’t seem to mind that she was so exposed in front of him nor did she notice how violently she was shivering. And Ross was not thinking at all about her naked body nor had it even registered that, for the first time, his skin had made contact with hers. It had felt anything but sexually charged. But this was not the time to process such feelings and all refined sensibilities were overwritten by his animal brain, desperately focused on the dangers before them..

“Can you walk?” His face was serious.

“‘Course,” she said and stood on her wobbly legs that were about to buckle beneath her. He didn’t wait for an invitation and put his arm around her again, supporting her as she shuffled towards the bedroom.

Once he'd sat her on the bed he glanced around the room for something clean she could wear as night clothes. Before she fell ill she’d done some laundry for him that still sat folded in the basket, not yet put away. He quickly found what he was looking for.

She managed to pull on the pajama bottoms herself but needed some assistance with the t-shirt. Lifting her arms seemed a herculean task for her, so he pulled the shirt over her head then guided her arms through the long sleeves gently, one at a time. He kept his eyes on hers, to help her stay grounded but also to avoid looking at her breasts. She may not have minded the intrusion now but her sense of modesty might kick in at some point and she’d feel embarrassed later. 

Before he helped her to lay back against the pillow, he thought to remove the clip she’d used to hold her hair up while she was in the bath. 

“That better?” He pulled the duvet up to her chin and sat on the side of the bed, his voice a blend of tenderness and attentiveness. He’d been successful at shedding the dark and commanding tone he usually took on when he was scared, but now was afraid he’d come across as patronising. Perhaps if she had been more lucid it might have made her furious he was treating her like a child. He’d only seen her angry the once--it seemed like another lifetime ago entirely. Such a vast emotional landscape they’d been traveling through and at quite a break-neck pace. 

“Ross, I’m sorry. I…” she began, apparently the concern in his voice had reached her. She certainly didn't sound insulted or annoyed.

“Demelza, what are you apologising for?”

“That I’m so helpless. I can’t remember when I’ve been sick like this…”

“You need to learn how to let people help you,” he smiled. “But I’m not very good at that either, come to think of it. Maybe we can learn together.”

“Ross!” she cried, suddenly snapping to. “What are you doin’?”

“I'm putting you to bed,” he said.

She tried to sit up but the movement made her dizzy and she started to tumble over. He caught her with his hand but she jerked herself away. 

“No! Get away! I’m not wearin’ a mask or gloves and neither are you! Why am I here? In your bed? Oh what have you _done_?”

“Relax, I'm not going to join you,” he tried to laugh. “I’ll take over the living room until you are well. It is clear you need better sleep--serious rest that you’ll never get on the sofa. And I believe you’ll find this mattress is exceptional.”

“But the livin’ room, it isn’t safe for you! I’ve contaminated it…I’ve ruined everythin’,” she cried.

“I’ve told you a dozen times, Demelza, that I am quite capable of cleaning up. Now go to sleep at once and leave me to it,” he said with a weak smile. “And you’ve ruined nothing.”

“Oh but Ross, I have, don’t you see? We were so close to bein’ together--properly together. And now we have to wait, all over again. Weeks and weeks. And if you get sick too?” Tears streamed down her face and at the sight of her--sad, worried, and longing for him--he felt a lump form in his own throat.

“Oh Demelza, sweetheart. I too wish we could be together. To hold you in my arms?” He heard his voice wobble and he closed his eyes, trying to push the thought away. “I won’t deny that I want you,” he said boldly, “but what I wish for more than anything is for you to be well again. And so I can wait. I will wait. I’m going nowhere and neither are you.”

“Yes, Ross. If you can wait, I can too.”

“Sleep, my love. I’m right here if you need me.”

_I’m going nowhere._

\--

It had been an impulsive decision but one Ross couldn’t undo, so there was no room for regrets. After he switched off the bedroom light, he’d methodically washed his hands then began stripping her bed clothes from the sofa. He was ready with his bucket of disinfectant to wipe everything down that she might have come in contact with. It was silly that in the days when neither of them had shown any symptoms he’d been so disciplined but now that she was undeniably ill, he’d tossed caution to the wind. Tonight he’d touched her, come close to her, and the internal quarantine zones of the flat were sent topsy turvy.

No, he couldn’t have left her to possibly drown in the bath and she’d been unable to stand on her own in that moment. And she needed the bed more than he did--he hadn't been using it the past few nights anyway. Once he did another deep cleaning they could safely settle into this new arrangement. He might even welcome a change of scenery to be back in his living room after more than two weeks of exile. And he was now in charge of the kitchen too. They'd need to still share the bathroom but that was it. 

_It might be okay,_ he told himself. _I’ve made it this long without becoming symptomatic. I just need to stay well to take care of her._

“I suppose I've always been a hopeful person _,_ ” he recalled Demelza saying soon after she’d moved in. He’d need to be one too.

\---

“Good morning. And how is our fair maiden?” Ross asked as he set a breakfast tray at the bedroom door. 

“Fair? You have quite an imagination, Poldark,” she said sitting up. “I must look a mess.” She raised her hand to her face.

“Nonsense, your rosy cheeks look cherubic.” He thought she looked lovely. Her eyes were clear and focused--a massive improvement from when he’d seen her last.

“I was thinkin’ more like a garden gnome,” she snorted. “Cherubic you say? I always found cherubs creepy in those old paintin’s, the way they lurk and watch…”

“Putti? No, they’re sort of emotional commentary on the scene. Playful or loving,” he replied. 

_Sometimes they mourn too._

“You make them sound like emotional support animals,” she laughed skeptically. “Or are they some sort of spirit bein’s, like angels or demi-gods? Whatever they are, I still find them intrusive. If I want to have a rendez-vous with some sexy Roman deity then let us get at it without their little pryin’ eyes or worse--busy hands, always tweakin’ nipples.”

He laughed, pleased to hear her make a joke. 

“Sexy Roman deities, huh? So I've some competition?”

“So you do, Ross,” she smiled.

“I only made tea and toast. Let me know if you're ready for more. You need to…”

“Yes, yes, keep my strength up,” she sighed and swung her feet around to the floor. He held his breath while she stood up then exhaled in relief when he saw she was steady on her feet. Reluctantly he backed away from the door so she could retrieve her tray. She glanced over her shoulder at him and shook her head.

“Don’t touch your beard, Ross,” she reminded him. “Even if you’re wearing gloves and a mask. I think I left my mask in the bathroom last night.”

“No--it’s there, on the bedside table. And your mobile is charging too,” he explained.

“Thank you, Ross. I hadn’t thought to do that.”

“Here comes the rain again,” Ross observed as fine drops sprayed against the windows on the westside of the flat. 

“I like that song.” She took a long drink from her tea mug then sat back on the bed.

“Do you want me to put it on?” he asked.

“No, I want to just listen--to the rain I mean.” She cocked her head. “Is there wind? I don’t hear any…”

“No, it’s a gentle rain.”

“Maybe we’re finally settlin’ into a warm spring. Let’s hope anyway…”

Hope. It still seemed such a foreign concept. And yet, despite everything, she seemed to have some. He’d need to follow her lead.

“It is that though, isn’t it? Both a memory and a new emotion,” she asked, then grew flustered, realising he might not be able to read her thoughts. “I mean, the rain…” she explained referring to the song lyrics that had been running through her head.

“But it is, indeed,” he smiled under his mask. He’d caught what she meant--it was running through his mind as well. 

He looked at her and felt relief wash over him for the first time in days. This morning, she possessed a certain vitality. She’d settled back under the duvet but was sitting up and seemed to actually be enjoying her tea, not merely drinking it out of obligation. “Demelza--dare I ask how you are feeling?” 

“Actually I feel surprisingly well--I think my fever is down. And I slept better than I have for some time,” she admitted, “but I fear that was at your expense, Ross. How was the sofa for you?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. She didn't need to know he’d again slept on the floor outside her open door. “Dwight texted. He wanted to check on you and also to let us know we were in for some sort of a surprise today.”

“A surprise?” She smiled, this time with her eyes. He realised he hadn’t seen her look that happy since their evening on the roof. 

\----

It was a little before noon when Ross’s mobile began buzzing insistently. He’d just loaded some sheets and towels into the tiny tumble dryer and suspected he’d overloaded it. He was a little out of practice at certain household routines but did not want to admit this to Demelza. The wash might take hours to fully dry but he had nothing but time.

Ross saw that he’d missed two calls from then read the impatient text that followed. 

“ _No one to sign for delivery in lobby. Go down at once. Sorry no oranges--shortages._ ”

“Demelza!” he called. “I’ll be right back. I’ve...an errand.”

“A wha…?” she replied but he’d already slipped on his gloves and stepped out of the flat without further explanation.

\----

“What in god’s name?” Demelza laughed. She was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, anxious to get a closer peek at the box Ross was holding, but cautious to stay in her designated space.

“A delivery for us,” he said proudly.

“Were you able to order…” She shook her head trying to puzzle out how Ross had managed to jump the delivery queue.

“No, it’s a gift. It seems we have a generous benefactor,” he said, then tipped the box so she could better see its contents. “Grapefruit--and lots of them. Plus surgical masks--those will surely be an improvement over my socks--I wonder where she managed to find these? And a whole box of latex gloves so no more marigolds...”

“So it's not from your pirate friend?” Demelza teased.

“No, it’s from Dwight’s wife, Caroline. She’s apologised that she couldn’t find oranges…” Ross read the text again, which now made more sense to him.

“Oh Ross, nevermind that, I adore grapefruit!” Demelza said. 

“Fresh fruit of any sort seems a good idea. She also included three bottles of Chanel nail polish and some sort of home facial kit.”

“For you?” she laughed. “Ross, what a thoughtful friend you have! And how lucky we are,” she added softly.

“She seems to be aware of your presence, my dear. And our predicament, although I haven’t told her. I’d better ring her straightaway to thank her and assure her our neighbors didn’t nick it all.”

\---

“So it arrived then? Wasn’t sure I could trust the driver. And don’t be cross at Dwight. He betrayed no doctor-patient confidentiality,” Caroline explained. “He merely told me he’d spoken to you and--your special friend--and that he was worried. I figured the rest out for myself.” 

“Caroline, it was a tremendous gesture and we’re most grateful. It certainly cheered Demelza to no end.” _And for that I am forever in your debt._

“What good are resources and connections if you can't exploit them for your friends? There’s really little I can do, Ross, especially from so far away, and it’s quite frustrating. I had hoped to perform this stealth act with anonymity but now you know it’s from me and the fun is spoiled. Be well, Ross darling,” Caroline said to him. “And give my best to your new _flatmate_ ,” she added, no doubt with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before but please maintain appropriate distancing and safety protocols, good readers, and really don’t look to these two fictional idiots as examples, especially if someone in your household is ill. 
> 
> Check out the WHO’s recommendations for more guidance.  
> https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/technical-guidance/infection-prevention-and-control
> 
> Borrowed lots of dialogue from Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield here as well as some plot bits--my intention is to do so with admiration and respect--hope that’s how it is received.
> 
> Jane Austen/Colonel Brandon/Alan Rickman fans might recognize a little agony at the sick room door, borrowed from Sense & Sensibility (“What can I do? Give me an occupation, Miss Dashwood, or I shall run mad”--one of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite adaptations).
> 
> Lastly chapter title and song discussion based on “Here Comes The Rain Again” by Eurythmics. Watch it here and get all the proper copyright details. I also dare you to listen to it without tearing up. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzFnYcIqj6I


	14. The Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fiction and I hope it is not deemed as irresponsible in any way. I do not claim to be an expert on anything--I can only draw on what I have read and even that advice changes from day to day. If something strikes you as incorrect or unwise--and there is plenty that is unwise in here--I apologize in advance. A link to WHO’s recommendations for more guidance is included at the end.

\---

“This is for you,” Ross said, standing sheepishly outside the open bedroom door. _Demelza’s_ _bedroom,_ it was now. “I thought you could use your own…”

“Loo roll?” she replied when she saw what he was holding aloft. “Why, that’s about the most romantic thing a bloke’s ever given me, Ross.” She gave a short snort but he was unable to truly read her mood from so many feet away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just that I read that if sharing a bathroom …” He looked to his own feet. Just days before he’d seen her stark naked--why did he find this interaction so embarrassingly personal?

“Yes, Ross, I read that too,” she said. “In the ideal we shouldn't share a bathroom at all but since we must, I should have my own designated roll and limit my visits…” 

“No, use the bath as much as you need. That’s not what I meant.” Ross was getting flustered then saw from her crinkled eyes that she was smiling at him, maybe even laughing under her mask.

“So you don’t want me peein’ in your houseplants?” She raised a playful brow. “That’s right, you haven’t got any. I suppose I could use a slop bucket? Oh, Ross, relax!” Now her laugh was clear--and most welcome. “I’m teasin’ and I’m truly sorry to put you at risk at all. But what if I at least promised no more baths, only quick showers since I can stand on my own feet now?”

“I’m glad you feel up to that again,” he said. That she’d grown able to walk around on her own was a huge relief to him. “Are you warm enough?” he asked suddenly, noticing for the first time in days she hadn’t pulled the duvet all the way up to her chin, and in fact, was only covered by a thin blanket across her legs. “I can make some tea,” he said.

“Oh, I’m fine. Well, actually… “ She reconsidered his offer.

“Actually?” he encouraged.

“Do we have any more of that grapefruit juice you made this mornin’?” she asked. 

He’d been waiting on her for days, bringing her anything that would ease her distress but there was something in the way she asked just now--bashful yet eager--that inwardly cheered him. Like it wasn’t a desperate need but a polite request. A fancy, even.

“I can easily make more. This morning, did you like...were you able to…” He didn't dare continue his question but she knew what he was asking nonetheless.

“No, I still couldn't taste it but it was refreshin’ all the same,” she said. “But don’t put yourself out, Ross. Just a glass of water would suit me. To be honest, you look positively knackered, so don't tell me you’ve been sleepin’ fine.”

“Well let’s just say I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he said softly. 

She was right--the leather sofa was total shite for sleeping. Too short, too narrow and too stiff. He’d conveniently forgotten that. On the rarest of lazy Sunday afternoons he’d napped on it, and once or twice while ostensibly watching a film, he’d passed out there after a few too many whiskies. He’d only deliberately slept on it once before and vowed never to again if he had the choice, nor would he inflict it upon another. And he didn't care who his future house guests might be--even Aunt Agatha would be invited to share his bed with him. 

“But you’ve had quite a few quiet nights now…” he said.

 _Two_ , he thought to himself. _Two nights and two full days without any fever._ If that continued it was possible he could be sharing his bed with Demelza in as few as seven days. Or was it sooner? Was the period of quarantine measured by days since the onset of her symptoms or the interval after she was completely symptom free? What he’d read was unclear to him. Could it really be just a few days from now that he could hold her again? He dared not get his hopes up and resolved to verify this with Dwight next time he spoke to him.

“Ah yes, no terrifyin’ nightmares, just back to standard, run-of-the-mill anxious dreams,” she laughed. “Last night I was travellin’ and hadn’t properly packed, couldn’t get a taxi to the right airport in time, couldn't find my passport, then couldn’t find a workin’ loo in the airport when I got there, couldn’t find my gate...you get the picture. Still an improvement that I happily accept.”

“I’ve had that dream. Many times,” he said. “And the fever has...remained down?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, I took my temperature an hour ago, just to be sure, and it’s steady at 37, so there’s that to be glad of. I’m still tired but it’s not exactly crushin’...”

Ross was holding his breath, trying to disguise how his ongoing apprehension had morphed into a new set of worries. He was hesitant to ask her about the full range of her symptoms. He tried not to question her sense of smell and taste, and was relieved when she voluntarily reported on her pain level as that too was something that concerned him. The fever was different--that was objective data, something trackable he could report to Dwight and that numerically marked improvement. And thankfully the worst of it had only lasted seven days, half as many days as Dwight had warned them to expect.

But Ross had since read about other symptoms--complications that could emerge as someone seemed to get better, things that could develop as one's immune system kicked into overdrive. He never dared to ask her if she had any rash or swelling, or pain in her kidneys or dark urine. Without meaning to, he monitored their conversations to check for any hints of confusion on her part. And he fretted that he’d be unable to know if her lips turned blue since they were always hidden behind a mask now.

Intellectually--and emotionally--this was a new experience for Ross. Usually when he read up on a subject it gave him a sense of satisfaction, control even, to have more facts at his fingertips and a better overall understanding. But with this, everything he read merely added to the list of things that could possibly go wrong, and gave him no confidence. More information only intensified the vast fearscape they seemed doomed to inhabit indefinitely.

He suspected she felt his way too, though they didn't discuss it. It was strange--they continued to talk about so many things and yet they’d also wordlessly delineated what subjects were off limits.

\-----

“What are you reading?” Ross asked. Demelza was standing next to the bookshelf, balanced on one leg like a flamingo, with an open book in her hand. He was pleased to see her so distracted and so upright.

“ _The Road_ by Cormac McCor…” she began and turned to face him.

“No! Put it down,” he barked. “That’s the _absolute_ wrong thing to be reading now!”

“Oh?” She raised a brow, apparently amused by his vehemence.

“Trust me. If it’s an American author you want, I can offer a worthy alternative. Top shelf, further to the left, red and black spine, you've got it…” He guided her fingers along the bookcase until they alighted on their mark.

“ _The Grapes of Wrath_?” she asked, pulling the book off the shelf and flipping it over to read the back.

“Are you familiar with Steinbeck? This one is also a grim road trip but it's at least set in the past,” he explained.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” she conceded. “The experts say that’s better for us now. Apocalyptic _future_ scenarios fuel our anxiety whereas historical accounts of grim times are okay--they allow us the space--the imagination--to believe this could get better.”

 _Instead of worse_ , she needn't have said it.

“Experts?” he questioned.

“Just some readin’ I've been doin on how to stay mentally strong and beat anxiety and depression,” she replied with a shrug. 

He paused and looked at her again. She was no longer bedridden but that didn’t mean she was fully okay. Why was he surprised? Of course this would be hard on her too--more so than for him. 

“Do you feel like you'd like to talk to someone, Demelza? I mean we could set up a video chat with a professional,” he said gently.

“Does this mean you’re sick of talkin’ to me?” she laughed.

“No, I just thought if you thought you needed more. You needn't be ashamed,” he continued.

“I wouldn't be ashamed. But thanks Ross. I’ll try to be more cheerful.”

“No, Demelza!” he said. “You be who you need to be--don’t feel like you need to put on a facade for me or anyone. If you’re sad or even angry, let those emotions come to the surface so you can deal with them. Cry or shout or throw things. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces now and I'm quite certain you’ll have a chance to do likewise for me again at some point.”

“ _You water me, I water you_ ,” she said simply.

“What?” he asked.

“Maybe I got that backwards. Whatever. It’s the kind of quote you see on someone’s Pinterest or on a tea mug--about takin’ care of each other. ‘I water you, you water me. Then we grow together.’ It means we take turns taking care of each other.”

“I like that,” he said and thought again how, like a wildflower, she belonged to the earth. He vowed he’d get her outside again, maybe even to the countryside some day. Too much time in this sterile concrete box would surely suffocate her. Perhaps she was fading already.

\--

“Ross, I think I'm in love with Tom Joad,” Demelza announced later that afternoon. “He’s so strong and resolute, thoughtful and carin’--lovin’--but fiercely protective.”

“Sounds like quite a catch. But he wasn’t easy, if I recall,” Ross said.

“Is it wrong to have such strong feelin’s for a fictional character?” she asked. 

He stepped closer to the bedroom and saw she was clutching the book to her chest as she sighed. He chuckled.

“It's a sign of good writing I suppose. Do you think that’s really possible? For a real person to have that very combination of traits, as Joad does?”

“I do,” she said. “We probably all have conflictin' characteristics but we just choose what to highlight at any particular time. And maybe it’s the balance that matters most in the end? I think, Ross, in a lot of ways Tom Joad reminds me of you.”

“Well, I never killed a man,” he said. 

“Minor detail.” She brushed away his objection. “People _like_ you, Ross.”

“And how would you know that?” he laughed.

“I see what your mates say about you online. The fact that Dwight has been so kind to me and then Caroline sent that care package? _You_ inspired that. And I watch you when you work, Ross. I listen. People respect you...you have a ‘moral certainty’...”

 _“Certainty?_ Are you delirious again?”

“No, Ross. I mean it.”

“Maybe that was the old me.” He looked away embarrassed. He wanted to ask her if she liked him but he couldn’t bring himself to flirt in that moment. And he knew the answer already. She’d said as much.

“But do you think we'll all be irrevocably changed when this is over?” she asked. “I mean dependin’ on what traits we brought front and center during these weeks? Who will we even be in two months time?”

“Hopefully better versions of ourselves,” he replied. “Scarred and tired maybe, but truer?”

“Depends on the scars, though, doesn’t it?” she said. “Sometimes people just get broken and they don’t know how to go on without breakin’ others…”

“Demelza, you’ve been spending too much time with me.” He shook his head and smiled under his mask. “That sounds like something I would have said.” 

_Grim, cynical._

“Well, Ross, I suppose, you just used the word ‘hopefully’ so maybe…”

“Yes, yes, Demelza, _you_ are having an effect on _me_. Now let me water you, my love. What will it be--Juice? Water? Tea?”

_Things are different now_ , Ross thought as he switched on the kettle. _And I have changed for the better._

The entire world--his entire world--had changed, not just upside down but completely inside out. He’d had to shift to a gear he'd never employed before. His was a quiet life now, focused and completely enmeshed with hers. By shutting off the outside, it was only the personal that really mattered. And Ross had managed to conjure a personal life in only twenty days that simply hadn't existed before. In the past, before _this_ , he wasn’t bothered at all that he lacked one. Work had fulfilled him, it had been enough. But no longer. He knew he’d never find the sort of satisfaction in his professional life that he now found in his time with Demelza.

 _Oh my love, what a strange road we’re traveling on,_ he thought.

\----

“Ross? Do you think it’s possible to feel both better and also worse at the same time? Like I'm better in body but the whole world has unraveled--and keeps unravelin’--so I’m sadder and feel less certain about that? And the more I get used to things, the more out of sorts I feel?” Demelza was sitting on a cushion on the bedroom floor, her arms wrapped around her legs that she’d pulled up to her chest.

“Yes, I think I know what you mean.” Ross walked closer to the bedroom door, still careful to maintain their required separation. “And it’s totally plausible and not uncommon to feel emotionally ungrounded--even depressed--after an illness. A lot of it is the mind-body connection. It takes an awful lot of energy to fight a virus and then there isn’t much left to attend to what your brain needs.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she sighed.

“You could also be touch deprived,” he suggested.

“No doubt. Wait, you’re serious? You mean that really is a thing?” she laughed.

“Yes, I read it today. Social touch stimulates the release of...um...something in the brain…”

“Opioids and oxytocin?” she offered.

“Right. So without touch, there's less of those and it could feel like withdrawal.”

“I do feel edgy.” She paused as though she was thinking. 

He wondered if her thoughts had gone to where his still wandered daily--what would it be like if they _deliberately_ touched? He had begun to regret that he hadn't just taken a little longer putting her to bed when he’d helped her from the bath earlier that week. If he’d held her in his arms, pressed against his chest, how much more would he have been exposed? Would that embrace have helped her? He’d also read that touch--wanted touch--can lower heart rate and boost immune systems. And there was the rub--in order to stay safe they were forced to deprive themselves of what human bodies instinctually needed.

“Ross, do you think we should make more of an effort to return to our schedule? It might make the next few days go by more quickly.”

So she’d restarted her own countdown. He made a silent, desperate vow to get an answer from Dwight on exactly how long they’d need to stay apart.

“Well, you’ve been good about eating so I’ll be sure to bring you meals at regular intervals,” he replied.

“And you should be careful not to work too much,” she chided.

“I seem to recall you promised me a dance party,” he said playfully.

“Someday soon, Ross. I managed a little stretch today--not full-on yoga. It felt good but also took a lot out of me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said gently. He could see she was restless but still weak. A frustrating combination.

 _When she’s stronger we’re going back to the roof--even if I have to carry her_. 

“According to your masterful schedule, we could watch something," he said. "Have you ever seen the film version of _The Grapes of Wrath_ with Henry Fonda?”

“Oh, I don’t want to spoil the endin’ of the book and I still have a ways to go. Maybe just talk to me?”

He felt his heart swell at the vulnerability she let leak in that simple request.

“Of course, of course.” He pulled his chair closer then immediately sprang up. “Demelza, I’m going to get myself a drink. Do you want something stronger than tea? I have a bottle of brandy...that’s practically medicinal.”

“Well maybe a ‘thimble full’, if you can spare it,” she laughed.

  
  


“Here you are, Miss.” He placed one glass of brandy, and another of water with a slice of lemon, on the floor by the bedroom door with a flourish and a wink. 

“Oh this is excitin’!” She skipped over to retrieve them once he’d backed away.

“If this were a proper bar we’d have some mixed nuts.”

“Meh,” she said. “I always just pick out the cashews to eat.”

“That works for me. I don’t care for those so have as many as you’d like but leave me the almonds. Okay, Demelza, what about olives? Do you prefer black olives or green?”

“Of course you like them black and briny, am I right?” she guessed.

“I suppose I’m that obvious. And you?”

“I like them both but not all green olives. I don’t like the mushy ones you get in a cheap martini but the really nice Mediterranean ones--they’re so fleshy and fragrant. Almost fruity. Do you know what I mean? I found some at a market a few months back. They were terribly expensive but I splurged all the same. Sorry, Ross, I’m ramblin’...” 

“No, Demelza, don’t apologise.” _I want to know all your likes and dislikes_. “Do you miss going to bars and markets?”

“Markets, yes. Bars, not really. Maybe sidewalk cafes?” She lowered her mask and took another sip from her glass.

“Brick oven pizza,” he said. “I miss the smell of wood smoke.” Then he caught himself at once, realising she still missed all smells. “Demelza, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking...” 

“It’s alright, Ross. It will come back--I have to believe it will--and I miss that smell too. Like when someone in your neighbourhood has a good blaze goin’ in their fireplace and you can smell it comin’ from the chimney as you walk by? Such a brilliant smell!”

“Do you want me to set something on fire for you? Because say the word and I will,” he said in a convincingly serious tone.

“I know you would, Ross,” she laughed. “Since I can’t smell properly you know what I’d long to _hear_?”

“Tell me,” he said softly, intimately.

“The gulls and all the other sea birds screamin’ and divin’ along the Cornish cliffs. Or maybe I’d like to _look_ out at a glorious slope covered with sea pinks! They’d be out by now, wouldn’t they?”

“God yes. And I’d be happy to feel the coarse dune grass along the sands, so sharp it will cut your bare skin if you aren't careful as you run down to the shore,” he said and closed his eyes, imagining the tall blades waving in the evening breeze.

“Or a patch of ground that’s covered all over in wild thyme and as it’s crushed under your feet, it gets all fragrant!” Now it was her turn to sigh. 

“Demelza, what on earth are you doing living here--in the city, I mean?” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I could ask the same of you, Ross. You seem to belong in the open air. By the sea or maybe workin' the land?”

“You may be right,” he smiled. “I used to think it was because I needed to be here, in the center of business, to make contacts for Grace Energy. And it’s true the company grew quite a bit since we relocated here. But now that I’ve been working remotely--somewhat successfully--maybe that reasoning no longer holds water.”

 _Perhaps my truer self needs the earth under my feet too,_ he thought.

“Okay, Ross, when this is all over we’ll make a break for it, hit the road. Just you and me, babe,” she said, trying her best to sound like a gangster’s moll. Then she winked. 

“You make it sound very Bonnie & Clyde,” he said.

“We could watch that film. Or the other one--with the salad dressin' bloke…”

“Butch Cassidy,” he said reading her mind. “And the Sundance Kid.”

“Yes, that one.” She nodded with satisfaction.

He loved seeing her face so expressive and animated again.

“And so, Miss Carne, you’re my partner in crime now?” he asked.

“You couldn’t shake me if you wanted to, Poldark.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to. But let’s be clear--you are the brains behind this whole operation. I’m merely the muscle here to do your bidding.” He took a slug of his whisky for dramatic effect.

“Oh,” she said and lowered her lids bashfully, looking into her brandy glass. He sensed that she was containing a smile. “My _biddin'_ , Ross? Careful what you promise.” She looked up at him, Her brilliant blue eyes were clear, sparking--and scheming.

“I forget nothing, Demelza,” he said, returning her unfaltering gaze. 

He bit his lip and wished his mask was across his face instead of around his neck so he might better conceal his agony. His attraction to Demelza had gone well beyond the sexual. To love her would be both a means to stay alive and the very meaning of living.

It was easy for him to imagine kneeling at her feet, running his hands down the back of her thighs then up the inside until she’d spread her legs further apart. He’d lean in to cradle his body between her quivering flesh, laying his head on her warm belly. His strong arms would reach up her back pulling her to him while he rose to his feet, and without breaking the seal their bodies made together, they’d tumble backwards onto the bed. They’d never let each other go. 

“Oh Ross...my sweet Ross,” she breathed softly. “I’m countin’ on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before but please maintain appropriate distancing and safety protocols, good readers, and really don’t look to these two fictional idiots as examples, especially if someone in your household is ill. Check out the WHO’s recommendations for more guidance.  
> https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/technical-guidance/infection-prevention-and-control
> 
> Borrowed bits of dialogue from Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield here--my intention is to do so with admiration and respect--hope that’s how it is received. 
> 
> Be well, my lovelies!


	15. Love Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fiction and I hope it is not deemed as irresponsible in any way. I do not claim to be an expert on anything--I can only draw on what I have read and even that advice changes from day to day. If something strikes you as incorrect or unwise--and there is plenty that is unwise in here--I apologize in advance. Check out the WHO’s recommendations for more guidance.

\---

“Ross! Ross, oh Ross!” Demelza cried from the bedroom door. 

Ross put down his knife and came racing from the kitchen at once.

“What is it? Demelza?” He desperately searched her face for signs of distress and was further confused by her shining eyes and her animated hands that she waved around in what appeared to be delight.

“Oh, I can smell it, Ross!” she sang. “You’re makin’ coffee! Yes!”

“Yes, love, I am. You really can smell it? Is this the first time…”

“It’s been comin’ back a little each day. I didn't want to get my hopes up in case it disappeared again or if it had just been my imagination,” she explained.

“You didn't tell me.”

“You didn’t ask,” she replied. “And I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily by bringin’ it up.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have assumed…” He lowered his eyes and shook his head in shame for having misjudged her.

“Well, it hardly matters now, Poldark. But it does mean you have to share your pot of coffee with me today!” she quipped, her new found cheer impervious to Ross’s self-flagellation.

“There’s no milk,” he warned.

“No worries. I’m not even sure I want to _actually_ drink it. Maybe just hold the cup, look at it, and inhale the marvelous scent!” She breathed deeply again. Even though she was wearing her mask, he could tell, by the way her eyes crinkled and her ears lifted ever so slightly, that she was grinning widely 

_I’m learning a whole new language of facial cues_ , he thought to himself. _Or is it just her that I know? What will it be like with strangers?_

\----

“Okay, Demelza, I prepared something flavourful for breakfast--only it’s late enough that we should really call this brunch. To celebrate the return of your taste buds,” Ross said proudly. “Well, at least I hope it's flavourful,” he added.

“Yes, Ross?” Demelza asked and skipped over to the threshold to retrieve the tray. 

He leaned against the wall just outside the kitchen, trying to catch her reaction after her first bite of the scrambled eggs he’d made.

“Is that…” she asked, licking her lips and squinting her eyes trying to make out the distinct flavour.

“Truffle oil. It isn’t too rich is it?”

“Not at all. We had truffle oil? All this time, you’ve been holdin’ out on me?” she laughed and took another forkful.

“You had to know where to look. Actually I’d forgotten I had it and only found it yesterday--behind that half-eaten and very stale packet of biscuits in the far cupboard.”

“Yes, I’m the one who ate half the packet--and they were already stale three weeks ago. But save them. We can use them for somethin', maybe in a pie crust.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled at her resourcefulness.

“Don’t laugh. When I’m better, I’ll make you whatever kind of pie you’d like,” she said. “Somethin' tells me you like pie.”

“I do,” he smiled and shook his head in amused disbelief. She’d proven quite good at reading him and he found it uncanny. 

“Mmm,” she said with dramatic emphasis.

“Good?”

“Too good. You’re more than capable of takin' care of things on your own here, Ross. You’ll find you won’t need me anymore.” She pouted then raised a playful brow.

“I promise my next meal will be absolute rubbish,” he vowed.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she laughed. “And don’t forget, Ross, you still owe me your illustrious Eggs Benedict. Or is that only reserved for ladies who sleep over?”

“Demelza, I’d say you’ve earned your eggs benny. And you’ve been sleeping over for quite some time!”

“Yes, like three weeks, but not _that_ way,” she said softly. “Well, let’s save it for a celebratory brunch. And we’ll have loads to celebrate soon.” Her undisguised hope radiated across the flat.

 _Good god, please let it be true,_ he thought, but dared not say aloud. He wished he could fully share her attitude but he was unable to push himself over the sunnier threshold of optimism. It wasn’t superstition but caution, perhaps a habit formed after a lifetime of disappointments and near-misses.

"Sorry there weren't any more herbs. I managed to salvage a few bits of parsley but that was all. Some bitter greens would go really well with this,” he said, trying to distract himself from his gloomy inner monologue. “A nice rocket or dandelion salad?”

“Are you offerin’ to forage for weeds growin’ out of the pavement?” she teased.

He looked at her again, so heartened to see her bright and laughing, eating and upright, talking and _living_. Then he looked away trying to conceal the swell that overwhelmed his chest. 

“I don't think we’re there yet,” he said, returning her laugh. 

_But we will need another supply run soon_. 

There was no use bringing that up to worry her just yet. They still had enough for the next few days until he’d have to venture out again. Perhaps their spot in the delivery queue had shifted favourably since he last checked. And while he hated to do it, he could always call on Caroline for assistance. Or Tholly Tregirls. But before he’d do that Ross had another call to make that was all the more urgent.

\---

“Ross, good to hear from you!” Dwight sounded exhausted but genuinely pleased to be speaking to a friend and not a fellow medical professional--or a suffering patient. “I got Demelza’s texts. Her reports sound like good news--she’s really had no fever for…”

“Four days,” Ross replied proudly, as though it was a shared accomplishment. “Of course she’s not fully back to health yet…” he added.

“She’ll still require lots of rest so please encourage that,” Dwight said.

“Yes, well there isn't much else to do here, is there?” Ross would have to try harder to hide his frustration. It wasn’t Dwight's fault Demelza was restricted in both space and allowable physical activity. “Dwight, how long until...she can end this self quarantine and move freely about the whole of the flat?”

“Walk me through it, Ross. She was there how many days before her symptoms emerged?”

“Ten, then she had the fever for seven days,” Ross said.

“And has been free of that for four? So she hasn’t left for 21 days?”

“It seems like an eternity but yes.” He didn’t mention the excursion to the roof but knew that wasn’t what Dwight meant. “And she’s been around no one but me all that time.”

“That’s remarkable--to think you’ve only just met her. While this was no doubt difficult for you both, as your friend, Ross, let me say I’m glad you haven’t been alone. Well, the recommendation is that someone can leave their quarantine once they have been symptom-free for 72 hours,” Dwight explained. “But that’s _all_ symptoms gone--not just fever. You say she’s still feeling ill?”

“Mostly she’s complained of being tired, some ache.” Ross was certain his voice betrayed the disappointment and dejection he felt at this news and tried to rally. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he’d allowed himself to hope that maybe she’d be free today or tomorrow at the latest. But at least Dwight hadn’t said it would be another 14 days. 

“Look, Ross, I realise this is vague and not what you want to hear…”

“No, Dwight. I know it could be far worse. My only concern is for her safety.”

“And yours. That’s what we are talking about now, Ross--keeping _you_ healthy and preventing further spread in a wider population. But what I really suggest is getting tested to be sure she is no longer ill and you haven’t become infected. There are a few private clinics that do testing by appointment but none in your immediate area that I know of. And the bigger public testing venues in the city are all drive-through.”

“Isn’t being in an automobile with her considered rather close quarters?” Ross asked.

“Your car has a back seat?” Dwight asked. “If you both are wearing masks the risks are minimized. Or go separately if you are concerned. I did hear they were putting up another testing site in the park--a walk up--but I’m not sure it’s operational yet. Let me see what I can find out and get back to you.”

After Ross rang off with Dwight, he stood numbly in the hallway for a moment. He knew he should tell Demelza what he’d learned but because things were still uncertain he was reluctant to mention a word.

“What are you reading?” Ross asked her instead. She was curled up on the bed and her mask was down so he could see she was biting her lip, absorbed in--and maybe even troubled by--whatever it was.

“Oh just a little relationship advice for couples trapped together,” she said and put the tablet down for a moment to look up at him in the doorway.

“Do you feel... trapped?” He tried to hide the panic in his voice.

“No,” she said quickly and raised her mask as if to hide her expression, “but I mean we both are sorta stuck, whether we mind it or not, and it's bound to wear on us at some point. Maybe not now but…” 

“And what did you learn then--from your reading?” he asked. Now he consciously endeavoured to sound encouraging.

“Well, Ross, it’s important to be honest and open and don’t expect the other to read your mind. If somethin’ feels wrong or bothersome then speak up. But mostly...assume your partner is doin’ their best.” 

He heard her voice wobble. She looked away and tried to put the back of her hand to her eyes without him noticing. It seemed she was tearing up. 

“Demelza?” A thousand questions flooded his racing mind but all he could do was say her name.

“Oh Ross, you are tryin’ your best. I see that, I do--I hope you know that I appreciate you,” she began. “You‘ve been doin’ nothin’ but care for me--and care for Grace Energy and everyone who works for you.”

“Demelza, before you got sick you were the one caring for me, do you recall that?”

“But I got to thinkin’, Ross, after this mornin’ when you told me you’d been afraid to ask me about my sense of smell and taste, and I’d just assumed you didn’t care...”

“But I did care,” he reminded her.

“I know. Of course you did--and do care!” she cried. “That’s the point. We shouldn’t keep things from each other.”

“Nevermind that, Demelza. It’s in the past. Is that what’s troubling you now or is it something new that’s upset you? Have I assumed something else incorrectly?” At once he regretted how defensive his words sounded. 

“No, Ross! I’m just worried about later, how we’ll be gettin’ on then,” she sniffed, “if this drags on longer, which seems likely.” 

“You’re worried about _future_ quarrels?” Now he tried not to laugh.

“Maybe that’s the problem. We haven’t properly quarreled yet, Ross.”

“You seem to have forgotten the day you were terrifically angry with me. You told me you didn’t like me at all.”

“I don’t think that’s what I actually said. And we argued _once,_ Ross. Only once! We need to row at least every other day to have a thoroughly honest and healthy relationship.”

“It's a deal. Any preferences for tomorrow’s argument then or shall I surprise you?”

“I’m sure you‘ll think of somethin’, Ross,” she laughed.

—-

Ross stood in the shower and let the hot water rush over his stiff body. The pain in his lower back now had a companion in his neck; nights on the sofa were taking a toll on him. But some day relatively soon he’d be able to stretch out on his bed again, to fall asleep with Demelza in his arms and wake up with her ginger head sharing his pillow. 

_Well, that’s some fantasy_ , he chided himself. _You’ll finally get a chance to take her to bed and all you can think about is sleep?_

And he was assuming she’d be okay sharing the bed with him. Maybe she’d want her own space and move back to the living room or ask that they take it in turns on the sofa. He didn’t really think so but hadn’t she just warned him of the dangers of assuming? 

Her recent moods had been more uneven than he was used to. While she’d gotten weepy earlier--and that had concerned him--he noticed she was more vivacious and prone to laughter these days too. And any temper or even slight irritation she might display would be warranted. No doubt she was growing restless in her confinement, especially since she was completely unused to being waited on. But she’d been doing her best to keep herself occupied and Ross took that as a good sign. Screens no longer gave her a headache and over the past few days she seemed to enjoy reading informative articles and summarising them for him.

“Listen to this Ross,” she’d explained the previous afternoon. “The reason everyone is stress bakin’ is because…”

“They are hungry?” he offered.

“No--don’t interrupt--it’s because bakin’ has been shown to be psychologically rewardin’. Small acts--any acts of creativity--allow us to feel in control, relaxed, and apparently happier.”

“I can see that,” he nodded in agreement. “I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my new role in _your_ kitchen.” He winked, hoping she’d see this territorial reversal as a humorous development and not merely a requirement of the grim times. 

She laughed and continued reading. “The small tasks required in bakin’ or cookin’ allow one to focus in a manner similar to meditation.”

“Meditation? Well, I suppose even washing up has felt almost...therapeutic.”

“Yes, Ross, and you are doin’ a fine job,” she said warmly.

“With the washing up?”

“With the cookin’! But I do miss it.”

“It won’t be long before you are in here cooking beside me, Demelza. I suspect we’d work well together.”

“You do? Let’s try bakin’ bread when I’m better. Isn’t that what everyone is goin’ on about? All these blokes who can no longer talk about their football club so they now competitively share selfies of their sourdough?”

Later that evening she’d laughed so loudly he could hear it from down the hallway.

“Oh Ross, you’ll love this,” she said once she saw him in the doorframe. “It’s about Isaac Newton, you know he was alive durin’ the time of the Plague, right?

“Yes I recall learning that,” he said. “It’s when he came around to calculus. I wouldn’t have thought that would amuse you so much.”

“Not that! But apparently he proposed curin’ plague with toad vomit,” she giggled. “They just found his unpublished papers,” 

“That’s rather funny,” he admitted.

“Not if you’re a toad. Or the patient he’s experimentin’ on!” She seemed unable to contain her laughter.

Now today, as he stood in the shower, he heard Demelza’s muffled cry through the bathroom wall. 

Ross!” she called out.

He turned off the water and dried off quickly. As soon as he’d stepped into the hallway he lamented his wet feet made damp prints on the floor. He’d need to attend to those later to maintain Demelza’s professional level of clean in the flat.

“Demelza? What is it? Do you need something?” he called anxiously and walked towards her room.

“Oh no, I don’t need a thing. I’m fine. Sorry, sorry,” she apologised heartily.

“But you _wanted_ something?” he smiled. He hadn’t yet put his mask back on and was happy that she’d at least benefit from seeing his full face and its sincere, gentle expression.

“You’re allowed a minute to yourself in the loo, Ross, really. I was just readin’ this…”

“And? Do tell.” He hadn’t taken the time to dry himself fully and his damp chest hair, as well as his still-dripping curls, were making his shirt wet. He noticed her eyes trained on him while he fanned his t-shirt out and swiped the towel across his torso once more. He couldn’t see what she was doing with her mouth, since it was hidden behind her mask but her eyes had a mischievous sparkle.

“Well, Ross, if you are genuinely interested and not just humourin’ me…” she went on.

“I am.”

“Which one?”

“Interested.”

“This one is for couples who are sufferin’ because they are separated. It’s all about how to keep the intimacy and spark in a relationship when distanced.”

“Oh? And, erm, are we...distanced? I thought you just said the other day we were trapped together,” he laughed.

“I think our relationship is sorta betwixt and between, isn’t it, Ross? Neither one nor the other. We are together all the time--in each other’s way and in each other's hair--and yet have to stay apart.”

That was the second time she’d referred to their _relationship_. He didn’t deny it nor think it overly forward of her. She was right to call it that. It was curious that they’d been so easily swept up in the tide--neither one of them fighting where things had gone, or questioning how their feelings had developed.

He supposed they weren’t required to understand just how it came to be--he’d just accepted it as a fact of life. But he still couldn’t accept these physical barriers between them and railed against them daily. Right now his instinct was to march towards her, to crawl over the bed until he could reach her and pull her into his arms. Or maybe hover over her, kissing her again and again. First her mouth, then her temples, then her neck. 

Instead he gripped the doorframe in frustration.

“We can choose to focus on the worst part--that we can’t touch or be closer than two meters,” she began.

Good god, was she really so adept at reading his thoughts or was he just so utterly predictable? 

“Or we can focus on the nice part--that we are always here for each other. At least you are here for me,” she laughed. “Not sure what use I’ve been to anyone lately,” she added.

“You are amazing company, Demelza.” He shook his head. He wasn’t allowing her space for self-pity--that was his territory. “Now tell me what you read.”

“Well, the sexperts say…”

“Did you just say _sexperts_?”

“I did. They recommend sextin' as a healthy way of sexual bondin' and maintainin' intimacy while partners are physically isolated from each other. The way this reads, it seems quite the _responsible_ thing to do.”

“Sexting? You mean like photos? Nudes?”

“Or sexual talk or Facetime that’s, well, not focused on faces,” she replied with a snicker. 

“And are you suggesting...I mean…it’s probably just a few more days before you can end your extreme isolation…” He realised he was hemming. Just where had this reluctance come from? What kind of monk and anchorite was he becoming? His private thoughts certainly had been anything but prudish so why not indulge her this fancy? What moral code had he drawn for himself that he had to obey such nice distinctions?

“So you’re tellin’ me you’re not ready to send _dick pics_?” She laughed as if she knew the phrase would catch him off guard. “Your loss." She said casually and reached for her mobile. After a few quick swipes and clicks, she tossed it back on the bed. 

“What did you…” he stammered.

“Oh I deleted some pictures I just took. _Selfies_. But no worries, Ross. You probably wouldn’t really like them much.” No doubt there was a wicked smile under her mask that matched her charmingly arched brow.

“Demelza,” he chuckled and rubbed his beard. Oh, she was good.

“No, Ross, it’s really okay. I get it. But you’d better stop standin’ there rubbin’ your glorious belly and torturin’ me. Go be useful and make me some soup or whatever,” she sighed.

“Does this count as a row?” he teased and stepped aside just in time to avoid being hit by the pillow she threw.

\----

“Well, Ross, I’ve read another thing of interest,” she said later still, after he’d cleared away their empty soup bowls. 

He knew his ramen wasn’t nearly as skilled as hers had been but she was gracious enough to keep that to herself. Now he was eager to indulge whatever new whim she had, since he’d clearly disappointed her earlier.

“Apt choice, by the way," Demelza laughed as “In Between Days” by the Cure started on Ross’s afternoon playlist. 

“Are we not 'in between'? I listen to you, Demelza. I’m listening now,” he replied and returned to his chair midway in the hall. Hers was positioned at the very edge of the bedroom threshold and she rested her long legs up against one side of the door frame as she leaned back against the opposite side. When her floppy pajama bottoms slipped down and exposed the lower part of her leg, he admired its sexy curve but also thought she looked thinner after being ill for so long.

“This one was about the lost art of love letters and how at a distance, couples might consider revivin’ the practice,” she explained.

“Is that what you’d like?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Ross! Can we? I’ll send you the link to the article!” She leapt from her chair and raced to get to her iPad. 

“Got it,” he said seconds later when the notification pinged on his mobile. “Let me finish my dreaded Grace tasks for the afternoon, then I’m all yours.”

\---

“Demelza!” Now it was Ross’s turn to call out across the flat. 

“What is it, Ross?” she replied anxiously. When she saw he was laughing, she relaxed her expression.

“Okay I read your article, now read the one I just shared in return. Also on the subject of love letters. Perhaps you’d like me to go James Joyce here?” 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Go ahead...read the excerpts he wrote to his wife. Fourth paragraph.” He bit his lip trying to contain the chuckle. "Aloud," he added. Oh, now it was his turn to have fun.

 _“'Goodnight, my dirty little fuckbird?'_ Ross! What on earth is this?” She was unable to contain the laughter that was coming out in snorts and pants.

“Oh you did that marvelously. Keep going. This time maybe try a Dublin accent.”

“‘ _You seem to turn me into a beast. It was you yourself, you naughty shameless girl who first led the way...It was you who slid your hand down inside my trousers and pulled my shirt softly aside and touched my prick_ ’--Oh Ross, this is brilliant--‘ _and touched my prick with your long tickling fingers, and gradually took it all, fat and stiff as it was, into your hand and frigged me_ ’--I’d say wanked, but whatever-- _‘frigged me slowly until I came off through your fingers, all the time bending over me and gazing at me out of your quiet saintlike eyes.’_ My my, Ross, that is impressive--and descriptive. Well done!”

“Yes, but I could never really describe your eyes as saintlike, could I?” he teased. Hands jammed in his pockets, he cocked his dark head coyly and rocked on the balls of his feet unable to contain his fun. He could play with her all day and never tire of watching her amusement.

“I’m a _friggin’_ angel,” she declared. “Okay, game on, Poldark. Give me some paper and a pen. We need to do this proper--not on our mobiles but old school.”

\----

“You ready?” Demelza asked. 

She’d written her first attempt on a rather small sheet of hotel stationery Ross had collected from recent travels. Even when folded, her note wasn’t very heavy so when she attempted to flick it across the hallway floor, it easily lost its momentum and stalled not far from the kitchen. With the help of the dust mop, Ross nimbly retrieved it, then sent his own folded sheet of A4 down to her.

She ducked into the bedroom to read his note in private, then after only a minute returned into his view laughing. 

“I was expectin’ it to be longer but looks can be deceivin’--like you, Ross.” 

“I’ve deceived no one,” he responded, feigning offence.

She cleared her throat and began her best deep-voiced impersonation of Ross as she read aloud.

_“Dear Demelza,_

_This is just to say._

_I have used the lemons_

_that were hanging in the basket_

_and which you were probably saving for a sauce._

_Forgive me. They were tangy_

_Still yellow_

_but close to moulding._

_Love, Ross”_

“Simply lovely,” she said. “And very what’s-his-name...the plum bloke…”

“William Carlos Williams. Yes, that’s what I was aiming for. And by the way, before you get too upset, there's still one lemon that’s not too dodgy--for your tea. Okay, let’s see what you’ve done here, Miss Carne.”

He unfolded the paper, amused at the elaborate technique she’d used, tucking one angled end into a little pocket she’d created. He hadn’t seen a note prepared that way since primary school and hoped he wouldn’t be asked to check a box as to whether or not he liked her.

It occurred to him he’d never before had reason to read her writing before. It was a little messy, uneven in places, but it revealed the same energy and unbound enthusiasm as the beloved hand that had held the pen.

_“My Dearest M. Poldark,_

_I have been confined to my bedchamber awaiting the return of my bodily health but I must confess, in my mind I continue to grow weak, pining, filled with sorrow and torment at having been separated from you these many weeks. The warmth the great lovers have professed throughout history is nothing compared to what I entertain for you. I love the ground under your feet, the air over your head, and everything you touch, every word you say. I love all your looks and all your actions. I shall fast or strike my breast and tear my hair longing for you! The spirit which serves me to write this epistle grows intractable--I cannot control it even if my incautious words and my clamourous manner displease you, dear Ross. I wish us never to be parted again--I couldn't bear to be so deserted in the world. My darling, I vow I’ll not stray five yards from your doorstep ever again!_ _And until such time I can know your heart and your kisses, I cherish the thought that I might still gaze upon your heavenly countenance. I remain, your devoted Demelza.”_

“Well done, Miss Bronte!” he exclaimed. ”And to think you had this in you the whole time? You deceitful little minx.”

“I deceived no one,” she teased, then softened and asked, “You liked it?”

“I did. And I believe you won that round,” he declared.

“Well, that was fun. But now let’s do it again and this time, let’s try to be sincere. Just tell me your thoughts and I'll tell you mine,” she suggested, and tucking Ross’s poem playfully into her top for safekeeping, she turned back to the bedroom and the task she’d set for them.

Ross sat on the sofa for several silent minutes, his biro between his teeth, his notepad balanced on his knee. He had only two sheets left so he’d need to get this right the first time. But where to start? Then the quiet was pierced by Demelza’s laugh coming from across the flat and he felt compelled to begin scratching out his words to her.

_“Demelza, my love,_

_I heard you laugh just now. I wonder if it's something you read that has amused you--hopefully you aren't laughing at me and my feeble attempts at putting thoughts down._ _Y ~~ou are an exacting mistress and I, your humble pupil who would never dare to cross you, am only following your orders here in this missive~~. _

Ross paused there. He thought the last sentence sounded too stilted, so he struck through the line knowing she could still read it if she chose. He took a deep breath and went on.

_"‘Tell me your thoughts, Ross,’ you asked me just now. If only it were so easy!_

_But your laugh, it does ring out like a bell, and anyone within earshot knows its brightness. I could do anything--or at least I’d try--with your encouragement. So many fortunate children who will have you as a teacher someday! If only I had been so lucky--but I’ll not complain because you came to me when you did and I’ll appreciate my good fortune and not regret it didn’t come sooner._

_Maybe you know what has been on my mind lately. Worry and more worry, and I’ve tried hard to keep that from darkening your mood. Demelza, when you were ill, those were among the most tortuous days of my life. I could do nothing for you but watch, and when I breathed I felt I was breathing for us both. At night I would tiptoe down the hallway to check on you and watch you sleep, so scared you’d just blow away like dried leaves scattered to the wind. And when I finally managed to drift off myself, often on the floor outside your door (I never told you that, did I?), my sleeping-self still wandered back to visit yours--at least it did in my dreams and it was the only vision that offered me any comfort. I dared to touch you then but had to be careful not to wake you for then the whole_ ~~_revery_ ~~ _reverie would disappear. I merely stroked your hand with loving fingers. Apparently I can no longer bear to be separated from you--even in dreams._

_Now you are more settled at night and so by extension am I. But when I wake, my empty arms continue to tell their own story of longing. And I admit my dreams still do sometimes turn grey. I remain afraid of losing you. Sometimes I lose you in a crowd and have to leave you behind. But most often it’s the sea, always so dark with towering, almost mountainous waves, grabbing at you with outstretched tentacles. It seems to want you as its prize and I am small, powerless to stop it._

_Yet in the daytime, the thought of going along that same beach with you, hand in hand, is among my most favoured fantasies. I promise you, my love, someday soon--hopefully very soon--we will walk together, in the full sun, and we’ll stay away from shadows forever._

_Until then, know I am never far from you, and remain always at your service--Truly yours, RVP”_

Before he folded it in four, he scanned over the contents again. He didn’t exactly love the final result--especially the closing, for there seemed no words that really conveyed his feelings for her--but wasn’t mortified by it either. He at least felt confident she’d understand and appreciate the effort.

“I’m done, Demelza, but if you need more time…” he called.

“No, Ross...I think...well, here goes.” He thought he caught a trace of hesitation in her voice--or was it vulnerability he heard?

This time she’d adjusted her aim and the note sailed successfully all the way down to him. It hit Ross’s foot and she hopped just a bit in excited triumph. He considered crumpling his into a ball and just lobbing it into the bedroom, but instead crouched down and flicked it with his fingers like he was shooting a marble. 

“Oooh, just the right touch,” she said, half teasing, half flirting.

“Well, erm…” 

_She probably won’t think that after she sees my drivel_ , he thought.

He stepped aside into the empty kitchen and began to read.

_“My dearest Ross,_

_You are just down the hall from me and if I strain my ears I think I can hear you exhaling but I’m probably mistaking it with the exhaust fan in the kitchen or even with my own breath, still heavy and awkward--though easier than it had been only a week ago. Of course I cannot really hear you but I sense you are there all the same. Did we once pace out the distance between us in this flat? Six meters, is that what you estimated it was? Or did I dream that?--”_

His concentration was broken by a cry from the other room. “Oh Ross!” Demelza said again, both a sigh and a gasp, and he smiled to himself knowing his letter had managed to reach her heart after all. He returned to his own reading.

_“Ross, I told you, I felt the two of us occupied some special place--betwixt and between, neither fully together nor ever really apart. But I’ve been thinking, while our bodies act as separate machines, isn’t it amazing that we eat the same food, we breathe the same air? Your flesh and mine are nourished by the same elements, the same oxygen runs in your blood and in mine! So we have a connection at the most fundamental cellular level, invisible to us but essential all the same._

_And our souls? I wouldn’t go as far as to say_ _yours and mine are made of the same stuff--for your soul is so uniquely and sublimely yours. Rich and complex. And so very deep--I’ll need to take my time to get to know it. You’ve lived alone and in the dark for so long, and I must accept there are aspects of you that willingly seek that--and perhaps you need it. I mustn't try to change that in you even if I don’t understand it._

_But our hearts? I’d say they are in sync, and beautifully so. A found, shared rhythm in work and play. I love that we both have an impulse to care for others--even strangers. For that’s what we were to each other before we became friends. And when we were strangers, in a time of crisis and uncertainty, we instinctively knew right away to help one another. What a test! We should be proud of how we fared. I’d like to think about a future time in which, together, we can do something for this needy, broken world._

_My darling Ross, you’ve been so loving and attentive these past weeks and I hope I have the chance to repay you again and again. I already know where I will start. Your lips and your wondrously bearded face. And once my kisses start, I promise you they will never stop. ---XOXO ❤❤ D”_

“Is it rubbish?” he heard her ask from the bedroom. 

He stepped into the hallway and saw her eyes were glistening, her fingers clutching his letter lovingly.

“No, my love. It’s beautiful,” he said softly and exhaled a held breath, a weighty sigh. He realised he was pressing her note to his chest. “Thank you, Demelza.”

_Thank you._

Ross knew he was sharing the same feelings of delight and anguish with this woman. They were closer than ever and yet remained painfully apart. And while it might prove unwise to speculate what the other was thinking, he also knew in his soundest mind and his well-examined heart, that just as they could read these letters, they could read each other--their unspoken thoughts, feelings and intentions revealed on their flesh. 

_Demelza, my dear sweet Demelza. I promise we’ll stay away from shadows forever,_ he repeated to himself, knowing it was more a heartfelt wish than a redeemable vow.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indebted as always to Debbie Horsfield’s scripts (“let it be true”, “betwixt and between”) and Winston Graham’s glorious stories. Savvy readers will recognize the direct quote “What kind of monk and anchorite was he becoming? What moral code had he drawn for himself that he had to obey such nice distinctions?” from Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (p. 266), the book-- and the bedroom--where all the magic began. Thank god, Ross gave up that moral code and lit another candle!
> 
> I too have been reading a lot online to keep me occupied. The dirty Joyce love letter quotes came from this source: https://www.messynessychic.com/2019/02/13/forbidden-and-filthy-love-letters-of-yore/?fbclid=IwAR2ZYYZKnqERtnPry2ID8mJhNFJ9agFdJ-EUVfFj69ZwS_k4DW2EHh2SO4I
> 
> This is the WCW poem Ross & Demelza referred to: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say
> 
> Listen to “In Between Days” by The Cure here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDMDb8unsIA&list=PLql5iS_v4444eQQGD3XGbJNC92OHLyZVk&index=1
> 
> And lastly I felt a bit weird playing with this one line from Wuthering Heights (“I love the ground under his feet, the air over his head, and everything he touches, every word he says. I love all his looks and all his actions”) since they were the words Catherine used to describe Linton--not Heathcliff. But I have lots of thoughts about that book and those characters (they are all so f--ed up!!) that are best reserved for another forum and not these notes.


	16. Lovely Day

“Okay, Ross, you recognise this song?” Demelza put one toe over the threshold of the bedroom and leaned towards the music coming from the far end of the flat. She shifted back and forth from one leg to the other; her radiant energy was returning.

“Hmm…” he said and listened closely.

“Wait for it…she said, eager, excited, like she had a secret she was dying to tell him. 

“Is this a yoghurt advert?” Ross teased.

“No, Ross!” she huffed with what sounded like genuine hurt and or at least disappointment, as though it had been her very judgement he’d insulted. “It’s from _your_ collection--you don’t know it? _But it's daybreak_...” she sang. “Barry Manilow?”

“Of course I recognise it.” He smiled behind his mask and felt a strange feeling deep in his chest and belly that he hadn’t experienced in years. “It was one of my mother’s favourite songs,” he said hoping to repair any damage he might have inadvertently done.

“Really? Well it’s absolutely impossible to feel down when this is playin’...” she said then continued to sing along, apparently unbothered by Ross’s earlier tease. “ _Ain't no time to grieve...Say its daybreak, if you'll only believe. And let it shine, shine, shine all around the world_ …”

“Aren't you a little young, Miss Carne, to know this song?” he asked.

“We used to sing it at nursery when I was a girl. Did your mum sing it to you?”

“I remember she’d sing it in the mornings sometimes--it was only when I was older that I'd pieced together they were the mornings following a row with my father.”

“Oh...did they...argue often?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not much at all. They were rather terrible about it. She was far too reasonable to give in to emotions and it usually took her some time to even realise it was a row. That made him angrier but also served to throw him off. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was doing--now that I think of it. And my father was so...well I suppose he was so in love with her, that he always gave in...usually by walking away grumpily but he never pressed it. Then…”

“Yes?” she said, this time encouragingly.

“After she died, it was like he had hundreds of arguments to finish, ones he’d stored away. And he finished them with himself. He was never the same.”

“Oh Ross,” she gasped. “How very sad for you.”

“I suppose I ended up alright. He largely left me alone.”

“That’s not exactly okay--to be neglected---well, I never met the man, so I can’t judge,” she said. “But Ross, it sounds like you have a lot of their characteristics--the good ones, I mean. A deep inner landscape like your father and a clear sense of reason like your mother.”

“An appraisal I shall try to live up to. And you?” Now it was his turn to be cautious. “Which Carne do you favour?”

“I'm like no one in my family!” she sputtered quickly, then looked away in embarrassment. “Sure, if someone studied my dad in greater detail they might tell you ways I'm like him, but that person is not me, and I'd rather not know if we crinkle our eyes the same way when we’re angry or...well, in truth I'm not sure he has other emotions than anger.”

“I'm sorry Demelza,” he said. He wished he could take her hand in his, to let her know that whatever bad feelings were dredged up by talking about the man, there was a present reality--and a future one--filled with warmth and respect. “And your brothers? They don’t look like you, do they?”

She paused as if she had to think carefully about what she was saying.

“Yes well my one brother and I..." she started then shook her head as if trying to rid it of some unwanted thought. "I’ve been told Drake and I have the same smile--I don’t see it though. And we don’t act alike either. He and Sam are a sweet lot at heart…”

“So are you,” Ross said quickly.

“But they are at times foolish, maybe even reckless, and _way_ too sure of their views. For a bit it was religion--Sam is still over the top with that but he’s grown wise enough not to mention his dear lord around me. And it’s other things too--like now, refusin’ to heed the lockdown. So opinionated but they just haven't explored enough of the world or even read enough or met enough other people to question if they might be wrong. It's almost tolerable now since they are still young but that's how old curmudgeons begin--and how bigots are made. It has to start sometime…”

“Am I not a curmudgeon?” Ross asked playfully.

“You‘ll have to try a lot harder if that's your life goal. Curmudgeons don’t nurse strangers back to health.”

“You weren't a stranger by then.”

“Or make them coffee every mornin’, Ross.”

“You made it for me first. And did all the cooking. I’m still just repaying the debt.”

“Or remember to buy tampons for their new flatmate!”she laughed. “Nice try, Poldark, but your generous heart seems to be gettin’ in your way!” 

“What about your mother?” he asked. “You said she died when you were young?”

“I don't recall my mum much at all--just a sort of flash of memories that I can’t be sure are even real. Like maybe I saw photos and created them--the memories--myself. Then I remembered the thoughts I'd manufactured in my head and not the actual person,” she said.

“Isn't that still real?”

“‘ _Of course it is happening inside your head...but why on earth should that mean that it is not real_?’” she quoted.

“Is that Gabriel Garcia Marquez?”

“No, Harry Potter,” she replied and went on, “You know they say children are unreliable witnesses but it turns out adults are just as bad.”

“What will we remember of these days I wonder?” he sighed.

She considered this a moment then spoke. “I think it depends what we need, emotionally I mean, from the story at the time we tell it.”

“Oh?” He was intrigued by the idea.

“For example, do we need strength? Then we’ll want to be reminded of a time when things looked grim…”

 _“Were_ grim,” he interjected. 

She rolled her eyes and continued.

 _“Looked_ grim,” she stubbornly persisted, “and yet we persevered and survived even though we’d been scared. Or do we want to tell a funny story, to entertain our mates, about how two strangers ended up spendin’ months together and all the crazy antics they got up to?”

“Crazy?”

“Okay, not crazy. Silly?”

“Or perhaps we’ll feel sorry for ourselves and perversely at the same time want to feel tough, so we’ll all be comparing how difficult our isolations were,” he offered. “Oh, I’m sorry mate, you were trapped in your semi-detached with your family and no one could get hair cuts? Big deal! l was stuck in a one bedroom with a grumpy stranger and we had to partition it into even smaller sections and because we were on the 20th floor, the windows only opened a few inches…”

“Is that supposed to be me talkin’?” she asked.

“Well _I_ certainly wasn't trapped with a grumpy stranger.”

“Neither was I. And I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “I'd never complain about this. No matter how I'm climbin’ the walls in my cell here, we’re lucky it's only the two of us and that we have a roof over our heads. And you still have a job so you are unlikely to be evicted anytime soon. Unlike others, _we_ didn’t really suffer--we were merely inconvenienced.”

“Right--that's precisely what you'd say to shut down the sad bloke at the pub who was spinning some overblown tale of his quarantine deprivation. And I’d be so proud of you.”

“As long as your pride in me led you to buy me another drink.”

“Of course. But only one more because I don't want you picking a fight with that bloke either.”

“Is he a big burly braggart?”

“Yes, and you never seem to consider your own size when you go head to head with an unruly stranger, do you?”

“I suppose I don’t. Better buy him a drink too then to calm him down,” she laughed. “Well maybe, Ross, we’ll look back on how our relationship started here. And conveniently forget everythin’ else that happened.” 

Ross thought he'd be happy to forget the fear, the panic, the pressing weight of anxiety and only focus on the light they found--and made--together.

“We’ll be out somewhere and a song will come on,” she continued.

“The Clash or Joan Jett…”

“Oh, you really love her don’t you, Ross? I was thinkin’ Echo and the Bunnymen or New Order.”

“Oh yes. And the Ramones?”

“To be fair Ross--I think all their songs sound alike. 'Rockaway Beach' is the exact same song as 'Rock and Roll High School'. But I suppose they are at least recognisable.”

“What about the Sex Pistols...didn’t we listen to 'Anarchy in the UK'”?

“No, we started to, weeks ago, but I asked you to turn them off--they were makin’ me nauseated,” she explained. “But I'm ready to try again,” she said quickly.

“I should have known you were falling ill then.” He shook his head at the memory.

“No, Ross, _then_ I was hung over. Okay back to the future--so we’d hear a song that will remind us of our quarantine playlist and we’ll look at each other and burst into laughter. A thousand personal jokes no one else would get.”

“Perhaps one day we’ll be those crotchety old grandparents,” he began, “scolding some child who is whining for sweeties, and we’d say ‘Back in our day there were no sweeties--we couldn't even get a loo roll’,” he said in a gruff old voice.

“Oh _Granddad,_ we had loo rolls, don’t exaggerate…” she laughed.

“That's exactly what you’ll say and then hand over a chocolate bar.”

“You know it will be you who’s the indulgent one, Ross. You’ll pretend to be grumpy and aloof but be completely incapable of sayin’ no!”

“Aloof? Did you just call me aloof? So I'm no curmudgeon but I’m aloof?”

“Grandchildren, eh?” she responded ignoring his last question. “Very forward thinkin’ of you Ross. That's supposed to be a good trait. It means you have hope.”

“Did you read that?”

“Yes I did. To have hope--real hope--you need imagination, which you have,” she said with almost a giggle. “And a sense of agency--in other words somethin’ you can do to help your vision come to fruition--and a community to share the hope with.”

“I have that--someone to share my hope with. But I wouldn’t mind a little more of a sense of agency, something I could _do…_ ”

“Well we’re finally doin’ somethin’ today, Ross. That’s a big step--let’s just see what happens next,” she said gently then furrowed her brow in a mock-pout. At least that’s what he thought it was--he couldn’t see her lips behind her mask. “Great, Ross, you just talked all over your mother's song. Well, listen to this one then. I named the playlist 'Lovely Day' because that is exactly what it will be…”

“How very hopeful of you. So we’re doing the 70s today?”

“Yes and when we come home, we’ll have an Abba dance party to celebrate.”

 _Will we have cause to celebrate?_ he wondered. He couldn’t stand to have his new found hope dashed so quickly.

He looked up at her standing brightly in the hallway. She was wearing a dressing gown--his dressing gown--with a blue green paisley pattern that worked well with her colouring. Ross thought the robe almost seemed to shimmer in the light like fish scales and she looked a bit like a mermaid. If mermaids wore surgical masks. 

He sighed and vowed to make a greater effort to stay positive for her. Maybe another cup of coffee would help him or even a cup of tea. 

_Tea!_ The connection came to him in a flash. All at once a swell of subterranean laughter rippled through him. 

“Wait!” he said triumphantly, listening more carefully to Bill Withers singing. “This song was a tea advert!”

“Really? Is that where I know it from?” She laughed along with him and he liked the way it sounded. Her sweet notes wrapped around and harmonised with his deep baritone.

“Ross, I‘d like to have a shower before we go. We’ve time right?”

“Yes, Dwight still has to text me the exact location of the testing site. He’s phoned ahead to make sure the queue won't be too long and we’ll be seen...it's not quite an appointment but it's as close as we can get.”

\---

Demelza slipped into the bathroom wearing only Ross’s dressing gown but as she shut the door behind her, he began to imagine the scene on the other side. In one fluid gesture, she’d have shed the robe, so it lay in a blue-green puddle at her feet. Maybe she’d stand for a moment or stretch her long limbs before stepping into the shower. 

Ross closed his eyes and thought about how it would feel to run his fingers slowly along her smooth back, down to the curved top of her bum. Her skin would be glowing and warm and his hand would then slip easily around her bare waist. His lips--gentle but hungry--would find her neck. Maybe she’d turn and look up at him with her shimmering blue eyes and he’d kiss her, his hand now on her cheek, gently cradling her face.

“Jesus fuh...!” she cried then laughed.

“You okay in there?” he asked through the door. He was no longer flooded with panic everytime she called out and her laugh always caused a different sort of physical reaction in him. He felt lighter, calmer, easier.

“I dropped my toothbrush but luckily caught it just before it fell in the toilet!” she explained.

Ross laughed too then moved to the kitchen to give her a little more privacy. It wouldn't do to lurk outside the bathroom while she took her shower. He hoped he hadn’t been coming on too strong. 

_Grandchildren..._ Had he really brought up grandchildren? Well, at least he hadn’t specifically said they were theirs--she’d been the one to imply that detail. Yet he’d said so many things to her over the past few days. He wasn’t on guard when he spoke to her, conversation just came organically, freely, and the places they’d found themselves had been fascinating, fun. But also tender--and at times deep.

He’d almost finished the washing up when he heard his mobile ring in another room. He hoped it was the call he'd been waiting for.

“Ross, you left your mobile in here,” Demelza called from the bathroom. 

“It could be Dwight. Can you hand it out to me?”

“Erm...I’m a little _occupied_ ,” she laughed but didn't need to say more. 

_Yes, privacy._

Ross recalled how flustered Elizabeth used to get around toilet matters. 

“Please Ross, can’t you light a candle or spray some air freshener?" Elizabeth would chide him, barely able to hide her disgust. Her flat was always filled with diffusers, scented candles, pot pourri, sprays--cloyingly floral and so unnatural. Ross wondered how she’d ever managed to change her son’s nappies or if motherhood had granted her more tolerance for the bodily functions that came along with the bodies we love.

“Love, would mind checking it for me?” Ross asked Demelza cautiously through the door, conscious of her personal space that he was again encroaching upon. 

“What’s your mobile password?" she asked just as the ringing stopped.

“MU1983,” he replied.

“MU? Really?” she laughed, with playful disdain.

“Don't tell me you’re a City fan.”

“Never. Arsenal. So what’s the significance of 1983?” she asked. “That’s part of your other password too. But it’s not the year you were born...”

“No, it’s the year my father founded Grace Energy. And the year my parents were married.”

“That’s so very sweet, Ross,” she said. “Yes, it was Dwight but he didn’t leave you a message. Oh, he’s ringin’ back. Shall I…?”

“Please go ahead and answer it.”

“Hello Dwight, it’s me, Demelza,” she spoke eagerly into Ross’s mobile. 

Ross was moved that she’d managed to strike up a peculiar sort of relationship with Dwight that went beyond doctor-patient, even though they’d never met in person. And it seemed an important marker in their relationship that they now had a friend in common. Did she just have that ease with everyone?

“Yes yes, got it. Oh, that’s not very far from here at all, is it? Don’t be silly, I can manage the walk, no worries, Dwight! Enter from the east side of the park? Got it. Thank you, Dwight. You are simply the best. Stay well!” she said and rang off.

 _So we’re really going to do this,_ Ross thought. 

“Give me fifteen--no ten--minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” Demelza called to Ross then turned on the shower. 

Over the sound of water splashing on tile, he could hear her sing out. 

_“T_ _hen I look at you, and the world's alright with me. Just one look at you, and I know it's gonna be...a lovely day…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, if you need your spirits lifted, check out Barry Manilow’s “Daybreak” from the album This One’s For You (℗1976 RCA Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment). Listen to it here:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQatUFeKnfY
> 
> “Lovely Day” from the album Menagerie, was already at the top of my pre quarantine playlist. Sadly Bill Withers died on March 30, 2020, about two weeks after I started writing this story. Listen to this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEeaS6fuUoA  
> Written by Bill Withers and Skip Scarborough( ℗1977 Universal Music Publishing Group).
> 
> Finally, Ross wasn’t kidding. Watch the Tetley Tea commercial here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCslYdfseSU
> 
> Thanks to the lovely mymusingsfromtheheart for recommending both these songs to our fictional playlist!


	17. Ain't No Sunshine When She’s Gone

Ross Poldark turned the key in the lock then paused before moving inside. It was only midafternoon and yet he was exhausted. 

It had been nearly a full month since he’d been around so many people so that in itself had been jarring today. But it had been more than just people that had left him so unsettled. Ross couldn’t decide if it had been the eerie state presence that was so disturbing or the chaos that could not be contained, despite such attempts at imperious control. 

But the state weren’t really the ones calling the shots, were they? No, in order for there to be government oversight, officials would actually need to know what they were doing. And the daily messages they put out in news conferences and in the papers were anything but encouraging or consistent. Thank god for the medical professionals. Ross would need to thank Dwight next time he managed to reach him. He’d already tried four times in the last hour but he knew the doctor was in the midst of another long shift, and had most likely switched off his personal mobile.

Now Ross was free from the crowds, from queues, and from white suited strangers barking orders. He could default to an older homecoming ritual, one he’d perfected over years of returning to an empty flat after working long hours--the small consolation he found in pouring himself a drink and just being alone.

He stepped into the hallway of his flat but whatever comfort he might have derived from being in his own space was immediately deflated. He should have known how very wrong it would feel. The hallway was dim and far too quiet. And then there was the smell. 

Citrus, bleach, and whatever other cleaning products they’d been using multiple times a day. The smells he now associated with despair and anxiety. With isolation and frustration. One almost grew used to the odors, breathing them everyday but all it took was a quick trip out of the flat, even just into the corridor by the lifts, to be reminded how stuffy the place was. Now that spring weather was upon them they kept the windows open all the time, at least as far as they would open, but the rooms were still close and overwhelming. He’d rather they stank of an overflowing bin.

Yet it wasn’t the smell but the emptiness that was so offensive. It hung in the air like an oppressive weight, sucking the air from his lungs. The dazzling energy Demelza had strewn about had faded and only remained as shadows in his mind. 

Ross closed the door behind him with his foot but not because his arms were full. Despite the large parcel and bag of shopping he had tucked under one, he still had a free hand. He just really wanted to kick something, but the door was unwilling to cooperate and closed with an unsatisfying click.

Maybe he should go back or just wait downstairs for Demelza to return. He knew it could be hours--they’d been warned--and somewhere deep in his gut he believed, greyly, that she might never come back.

Earlier they both had been open about their apprehensions but neither had anticipated this would happen. It had seemed a responsible venture on their part, one they willingly sought out, but never would they have stepped foot outside the flat had they known what a hellish day laid ahead of them.

It had started as such a promising day. 

_A lovely day._

\----

“You ready?” Ross had called from the living room. He’d been looking for his shoe then remembered his trainers were next to the door where he’d shed them the day before, after his last trip to the rubbish chute.

“Yes, I am,” Demelza giggled and slung a very small bag across her chest. 

_It’s just like her_ _to carry only the necessities_ , he thought. Wallet, mobile, not much else would fit in such a handbag. 

“Come on, Poldark!” she called and stepped eagerly over the threshold and into the corridor.

“Let's take the lift,” he said, closing the door behind them. 

“I can manage the stairs, Ross.” She might have been trying to reassure him that she was back to nearly-full strength. Or perhaps it was she who needed reassurance that the confined space of the lift wouldn’t be a safety issue.

“I know you can,” he said, “but I believe the lift will be okay, and it's faster.”

“Sold. You know, I was worried after so many weeks of lazin’ about that my jeans wouldn't fit me anymore but thankfully I could still zip them,” she said after she stepped inside the lift ahead of him. She put a hand on her own bum as if trying to get a better sense of its current span.

“Are you forgetting the weeks that you ate nothing but chicken broth?” he asked, his eyes lingering on her hand--and its mark. “I was worried you'd blow away if it went on any longer.”

“Well my appetite is back so you needn’t fuss about my weight Ross,” she said. 

“I'm not. I'm fussing about your health--there’s a difference. Whereas I am the one who has turned to flab and…”

“You’re fussin’ _and_ fishin’,” she snorted. “Look Poldark, you are as svelte as ever. Find a giant log to toss once we’re at the park if you really have a need to show off your strength.”

He laughed--he loved when she called him _Poldark_ and he appreciated that she always called him on his self pity. But while he searched for the right line to joust back, the lift came to a slow stop at the ninth floor. 

Someone else was about to get on.

They looked at each other and without saying a word both inched closer to the back wall. Ross could tell Demelza was holding her breath, her eyes were wide with alarm. 

He shook his head to clear his mind, trying to clutch at a rational response that seemed to slip just beyond his grasp. Even if another body joined them, it would be mere minutes until they reached the lobby. And he and Demelza were both masked. The risks were minimal. Yet the prospect was terrifying. 

How quickly they’d overwritten supposed instincts to be social animals, to seek out other humans. Now they were not only avoiding others but shunning them. Ross supposed that was a sort of primal urge as well, a protective one that emerged in times of strife and danger. He could always just request that these strangers wait for another lift. It might be overzealous and maybe even impolite, but it would certainly put Demelza’s mind at ease.

But he needn't have steeled himself for any such confrontation. After just a moment’s pause they continued their descent, without the doors ever opening, without anyone joining them. While it was a relief, it also put them on edge. It was inevitable that they’d meet others but after nearly a month of isolation, neither was fully prepared for it.

“I'm just glad your appetite is back,” he said to finally break the silence.

“Are you tryin’ to fatten me for nefarious reasons?” Demelza cocked a brow and returned to her previous tease. 

He smiled under his mask at her attempts to lighten the mood.

“You mean am I a serial killer after all? I may be but I assure you we are still quite far from cannibalism.” 

“Ugh..I was just readin’ somethin’ about the famine in Ukraine in the ‘30s. Nasty stuff, speakin’ of cannibalism.”

“I’d rather not speak of cannibalism. Demelza, I thought I warned you about your reading list?”

“No, you said historical gruesome was okay.”

“That was your _experts_ , not me.”

“Was it?”

“Why were you reading about Ukraine?” he asked.

“I read lots of different things, Ross. I’m not as one dimensional as you might think.” Then she laughed. “Actually it was a review of the new James Norton film. Okay, Ross, maybe you just want my skin,” she continued.

“What?” He was caught off guard. He did want her skin--very much. To caress, to kiss, to press against his own. He imagined the heat their bare skin would generate together under the sheets--there could be nothing so warming, so wondrous as that.

Ross had touched her skin once. And since the night he’d helped her from the tub, he tried to recall how it had felt to him. Wet and feverish, he supposed. But it had happened so fast and he’d been so worried at the time that she might lose consciousness or worse, that he hadn’t stopped to relish the sensation or indelibly mark it on his brain. Now whatever remained were most likely only his own manufactured memories. 

“As a serial killer, I mean,” she explained. “Wasn't that the premise of _Silence of the Lambs_?”

The lift gave a quiet ding and came to a stop. Before Ross had a chance to respond, the doors began to open. 

“Okay this is it,” she danced. She grabbed the air with excited fingers and Ross suspected she would have squeezed his arm if she'd been able.

They stepped out into the empty lobby, still bright and elegant after all these weeks of being unstaffed. A cleaning crew must have been sent through recently to keep the floor to ceiling windows immaculate, the floors polished, the dust at bay. 

The squeak of their trainers echoed on the brushed granite as they walked past the empty desk.

“I hope Arthur is safe,” she said softly.

“Who?” he said then realised she was talking about the concierge, a man Ross had passed at least twice a day, every day, for years. Ross had given him a nice bottle and an impersonal envelope of cash at Christmas, and while he knew his name, he never really asked after the man. Did he have an older parent he’d be worrying about in these scary times? A family to support--and now no pay cheque? 

Of course after only two visits to the building, Demelza would have gotten to know Arthur, asked him his name, probably been shown pictures of his dog or his boat. Was that her nature or was that an understanding amongst service people, to notice each other? 

“Yes, me too,” he mumbled. Maybe he should ask Demelza for Prudie’s personal contact information. He’d like to see how she was faring--and to thank her for sending Demelza in her stead almost a month ago.

Ross pushed open the glass door, then still maintaining a reasonable distance, held it so she could walk through. He looked up and saw her blue eyes shining.

“Ha!” she said. It was both a gasp and a nervous laugh.

\-----

Dwight had been correct---the park where the testing facilities had been erected was not far from Ross's flat at all, less than a mile away in fact. A month earlier Ross and Demelza could have jogged the distance handily without breaking much of a sweat. Today it would be an unhurried fifteen minute walk. There were only a handful of people out and so very few cars in the road, that it reminded Ross of an early Sunday morning, when one is just crawling home from a long night out. 

Ross’s neighbourhood was sleek and commercial--high rise flats and relatively new office blocks. In another lifetime he’d considered it soulless but now appreciated how uninhabited it seemed. In some places the pavement was wide enough that he and Demelza could walk abreast and still keep their distance, but at other points they had to fall into file and he took up the rear. Ross deliberately slowed his pace so that Demelza wouldn't feel a strain or grow short of breath, and whether she saw through his efforts or not, she adjusted her speed to match his. Occasionally she’d look over her shoulder to see that he was still there, and of course, he was.

“Normally walkin’ is my preferred mode of transport and certainly fresh air is a relief...this really should be enjoyable, to feel my face tingle in the breeze. It's been so long! And while I know I should feel relaxed, comforted…” she began.

“But?”

“Oh Ross, my knees feel weak--I’ve never felt that before, like they're actually knockin’! And my heart is racin’--but it's all in my body, not in my head, I swear.”

“Funny how the body does that--registers fear even when your conscious mind fights it,” he said.

“But it’s ridiculous!” She was clearly impatient with herself. The fact that she was her own worst critic reminded him of himself. “What am I afraid of? I'm just walkin’ down the street, Ross. No one will jump from the shadows to attack me, no bombs will fall from the sky. If anythin’ _I'm_ the threat--to others!”

“Just breathe, my love. Steady in and out. No rush, we haven't far to go. It will be over soon. And we’re together.”

“Oh I know, Ross. Good lord, if I were alone and couldn't speak my mind aloud, I’d be jumpin’ out of my skin! Or talkin’ to myself.”

“Well then, my lady, I am your humble servant," he bowed playfully.

Just then a very tall man wearing a red bandana around his face, turned the corner, heading towards them. Ross felt his fingers twitch--he so longed to take Demelza’s hand in his for this first confrontation with a passing stranger. But all three of them deliberately quickened their steps and nodded their heads. That, and a flicker of eye contact, was all they gave each other as salutatory greetings.

“I think we want to turn here,” Ross said, glad to have survived the encounter but knowing there were many more that awaited them. “If we are to enter from the east side of the park as Dwight instructed.”

“Right.”

“No, left,” he said gently.

She burst into laughter. “I mean _correct_ , Ross. Yes, we’ll go left. We have to head _east_ at _Westbourne_ Road.” She giggled again, apparently finding the situation hysterical.

Ross exhaled a sigh of relief. He was happy to see her loosening up--and hoped she wasn’t cracking up. Knowing her, as he thought he did now, he suspected the green on the shrubs in the park, the soft damp air, even the overcast sky would brighten her spirits and distract her from her apprehension. He wasn’t mistaken.

“Oh Ross!” she gasped and stopped in her tracks for a moment before she surged forward towards the wrought iron fence. On the other side, trees in the park were already in flower. Pink and white, perhaps cherry or blackthorn--it was still a little too early for apple. Their soft petals were strewn about the green lawn, clinging to the wet pathways, and inviting them in.

“There is an entrance closer to the testing site further up, but we can go in here if you like,” he said. 

“Yes, let’s,” she answered and walked on ahead, this time without waiting for him. They hadn’t gone far before she paused in wonder at a bench that was completely littered with pink. “It’s so lovely. And so nice to be reminded that lovely things still exist!” she said inhaling deeply.

He too was drawn to the sweet fragrance that filled the air and temporarily allowed them to forget they were in a city. A city experiencing lockdown. Ross wanted nothing more than to sit with her on that bench while the falling petals collected in their hair like confetti at a wedding. He’d kiss her for hours and hours until the sun set and the sky turned black around them. 

“It’s like that every year,” she said, “No matter how old I get, I'm always amazed at how beautiful spring trees in blossom can be--and they smell so brilliant. And yet they are completely indifferent to us, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It isn’t like they’re preenin’ and showin’ off for _us_. They have other business to attend to, birds and bees to attract, and they don’t care about people and our feelin’s and hurts. They just bloom and put out their scent to pollinate and be pollinated, then the flowers go on and fall away and decay, and they’ll do it all again next year.”

_There are forces that don’t give a toss about me. The rain will fall and the wind will continue whether I’m here or not…_ He recalled what she’d said to him the night they ventured up to the roof. It seemed a lifetime ago. Despite those words they'd been so full of hope then that things would be changing soon--at least for them. It had been that very night that Demelza had first fallen ill and hope, for them, was buried. But not lost.

What she said was true. No forces in nature, and very few people, did give a toss about their fate--certainly the rain or the cherry trees didn’t. But he and Demelza were interested in each other, in their individual and combined destinies, in what happened next. And that shared stake had serious consequences. It saved them from total anonymity, from nothingness. In that moment, walking through the empty park following the enchanted carpets of pink, Ross thought he might have stumbled upon a secret to the universe, the meaning of life. To love and be loved in return. Or at least to care.

He shook his head and tried to ground himself again. Humans had the same mission as trees--to attract forces to help them reproduce, to perpetuate the species. Beauty, heady fragrance, even feelings were just details in service of that goal. No profound secrets there. He laughed and took a few long strides to catch up with her.

“Yes, Ross? What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I think the trees do care--I mean, we’ve domesticated them and propagate them because they are so pretty so it's in their interest to keep their end of the bargain. Anyway, I believe the scent may be intoxicating me.” 

“It’s possible, I suppose.” She was taking him seriously. “I mean there are sugars in the petals and when they decay they probably ferment so maybe like fruit they create some alcohol…” Then she stopped mid sentence and swallowed hard. “Ross,” she whispered. “That’s it over there. Fucking hell! Look at the queue!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember at the beginning of this story I declared it was not set in any defined place--I stand by that. This chapter in particular may not sound like how things played out in your corner of the world but is a sort of amalgamation of different testing operations, set ups, and procedures. It is in no way meant to critique the approach of all governments, as some countries seemed to handle things quite effectively (and in the US a handful of local municipalities eventually did so--maybe). Please also remember too that the timing of this chapter puts the action around late April so things we know now or accept as reasonable protocols may not have been in place “way back then”.
> 
> “To love and be loved in return,” as well as few other turns of phrase, are borrowed with admiration from Winston Graham’s Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall.
> 
> Chapter title comes from “Ain't No Sunshine When She’s Gone” from the Bill Withers album Just As I Am. Listen to this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuKfiH0Scao
> 
> Written by Bill Withers (℗1971 Universal Music Publishing Group).
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely mymusingsfromtheheart for recommending Bill Withers to our fictional playlist--little did she know how she was playing with Ross and Demelza’s’ fate!


	18. Station E

Two stretch marquees were set up near the east entrance to the park, and though Ross couldn't be certain from where he stood, it was possible a third--and maybe even a fourth--was situated in the distance.

The tents themselves didn't necessarily look out of place. Gala events and fancy dinners for charities and civic boards were often set up in parks around the city, especially in the summer months. But the white suited workers buzzing about and the serpentine queue outside each one definitely seemed unusual. In actuality the number of people waiting was not so great, but everyone was separated by small orange cones set two meters apart, marking off the pavement, and causing the line to stretch longer.

“At least things seem to be moving fast,” Ross said to Demelza as they assumed spots at the rear. She didn't say anything but took a pair of gloves out of her pocket and nodded to Ross to put his on as well.

“You never know what we may come in contact with and it's better to be ready,” she explained. Ross scanned the crowd. Some others were wearing gloves as well. Everyone was wearing a mask of some kind. In the distance someone coughed and he felt his body tense at once.

After only a few minutes they moved further up the queue and got a better view of what was ahead. Before anyone was admitted to the tents for actual testing, they were vetted by staff who were making their way down the line of people, taking temperatures and ticking off boxes on small clipboards. Other staff walked back and forth, ostensibly to maintain order, but the folks waiting that morning all seemed subdued and easily directed. They all were there because they chose to be, and were careful not to act uncivil lest they be turned away.

 _They are all as anxious as we are_ , Ross thought sympathetically.

With each step forward they took, Demelza seemed to inch closer to Ross, until they shared a spot on the pavement together.

“Sorry miss, sorry sir. Mind your distance. Two meters between you, please,” a staff member said briskly through his face mask and pointed to the cones. He was wearing a white suit but it didn’t look very substantial nor particularly protective. More like the paper ones investigators might sport at crime scenes. 

Ross had read of medical staff using bin liners to make their own protective gear in places where there were severe shortages. He hoped Dwight was faring better than that but imagined Caroline wouldn’t allow it to get that bad. She had her own sources, probably more above board than Tholly Tregirls, but who knew?

“Oh, it’s okay. We--he and I--are partners,” Demelza explained.

“Domestic partners?” the man asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Ross answered quickly hoping that would end the scrutiny. Apparently it did the trick and the man walked on to shepherd the rest of the crowd between the cones.

“I think it _is_ okay,” she whispered, rocking uncomfortably on both feet. She didn't quite move away from him as ordered but she didn't dare move closer. “I mean since we’re outside. We’re not that close and we’re wearin' masks.”

In his flat--in private--he and Demelza had managed to keep up their responsible distance for twenty-eight full days and now in less than just a few minutes, they’d broken the protocol and drifted together while standing in a public queue. But this didn’t trouble Ross. Whatever threat she might pose to him seemed minimal compared to the dangers that surrounded them.

But it was more than that. Of course once out in a world filled with unknowns, she and Ross reached for the familiar, for reassurance, for comfort. And they weren’t to be separated. He recalled her description of bonded pairs in nature and laughed lightly. So they’d become one as well.

“Yes we’re fine,” he agreed and in a bold move, rubbed her arm with his gloved hand. “But let's still have a care with others.”

“Of course,” she said and darted her eyes around the other folks who were waiting.

\---

The queue moved steadily forward and it wasn’t long before they neared the front. Ross had read that the test procedure itself was unpleasant but went quickly. It seemed it was the gathering of personal information that was causing any bottlenecks.

“Name please…” One of the white suited staff was asking a woman six meters ahead of them. 

Ross looked over at Demelza’s wide eyes. Excitement, relief, and fear flashed across them before she swallowed hard and laughed.

“Oh!” she said in surprise. Another suited official had come up on her left and without warning had aimed his thermal scanner at her forehead. “Yes, well, please do,” Demelza turned to properly face the man. She stood proudly, confidently, knowing her temperature had been within the normal range for well over a week.

“Hmm,” the man said looking at the display. “Step aside please, Miss.”

“What?” she cried indignantly. “No, do it again!”

“Believe me, we will. Now please step aside,” the man said.

“Demelza? What is it?” Ross could feel the hair raise on the back of his neck. He began to move from the main queue to follow Demelza, but was stopped by another staff member who held up one gloved hand and made it clear he needed to remain where he was. 

“Please sir,” the woman said, and aimed her scanner at Ross’s forehead. “Thirty seven exactly. Step forward, sir.” 

“But what about her? We came together. She’s my _partner_.” He said the word again. It no longer sounded like a contrivance but a genuine description of their connection.

“We’ve a protocol, a questionnaire to administer to her. But you don’t want to lose your place, do you? Best keep moving,” the woman explained.

Ross turned back so he could see Demelza. From her body language he could tell she was annoyed but satisfied. Her arms had been crossed but then she spread them wide in an “I told you so” motion. Her foot tapped out her irritation. They must have taken a second scan and found her temperature normal.

He stepped forward as ordered but whipped his head around yet again when he heard Demelza cry out.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Sorry, sorry…” She quickly apologised--she must have realised she’d easily lose her testing spot if she appeared aggressive or non cooperative. “Just let me tell my partner...he’s just over there.”

It was almost Ross’s turn to step into the tent but his feet were firmly planted to the pavement. There was no way he’d make a move until he knew what was going on with Demelza.

“Ross!” She scurried over, closely followed by her white-suited handler who was more than a little displeased that they were ignoring the orange cones completely now. “They need to ask me more questions about my symptoms,” she explained.

“What symptoms? You don't have any,” Ross said sharply.

“I know. The ones I did have. _Weeks ago_ ,” she added over her shoulder with sneering emphasis for the man’s benefit. “Apparently I need to go to another marquee, over there.”

“Station E,” the man muffled under his mask. Ross didn't like the sound of that.

“Okay, I’ll wait,” he said.

“Could be a while, sir. Go get your test and go home,” the man said gruffly, half way between a suggestion and an order.

 _Not very likely_ , Ross thought.

“Look, you’re up next, Ross. Don’t give up your spot for me. I’ll be fine and I’ll text you with a status report,” Demelza said and pulled out her mobile. “Shit! I’ve almost no battery! I thought I'd charged it!” she cried.

“Swap mobiles with me,” Ross said quickly. “If the hold up is as long as they say, I can always go home and charge it, but you should have a way of keeping in contact. Here,” he said reaching into his pocket. “You know my password.”

“Okay. Wait, mine’s a finger swipe. I’d better change it,” she said. Ross saw her hands shaking as she struggled to pull off her glove to change her settings.

“Miss?” the man said impatiently. 

“Yes, yes, please just a moment,” she said. “Let’s see...somethin’ I’ll remember too…”

“Sir, please step back into the queue,” another voice behind Ross said. It was high pitched, female, but stern and clear through her mask.

“Okay--got it.” Demelza leaned forward to whisper to Ross but the gloved hand next to her signalled she should move no closer. “Oh come on!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to shout it for the whole city to hear?!” Ross imagined her teeth were snarling under her mask.

“Sir, are you giving up your spot?” the stern woman asked Ross.

“No, of course not,” Ross muttered and reached out for Demelza’s mobile. “Just text the password to me,” he said.

“Well you won't be able to read the text without the password!” Demelza laughed. Ross noted how she’d been sharp and on edge with the staff but still managed her gentle warmth with him. “It’s easy for you to guess, Ross. Six letters--no numbers. Think Casablanca--the settin’, I mean.” He could see her eyes were smiling at him, pleased with her choice. “Yes, I’m comin’ but am perfectly capable of walkin’ myself, thank you,” she huffed at the man who was eager to remove her from the scene. “Good luck, Ross,” she called over her shoulder.

“Okay, got it.” Ross felt vaguely confident he could figure it out based on the hints she’d given and in the moment was more concerned with the white suited staff who, without laying a hand on them, were pulling them in opposite directions. He made a determined effort to remain upbeat for Demelza, lest she become overwhelmed with fear or worry. “See you soon, my love,” he called, then quickly stepped forward into the tent marked Station A.

The nasal swabbing was about as bad as the descriptions Ross had read. A deep burning, worse than snorting heavily chlorinated pool water up one’s sinuses. Even after it was completed, tears shot from his eyes and he couldn’t resist a bout of coughing. Luckily the test was executed quickly and no one seemed alarmed by the onset of a cough. 

On the contrary, the medical staff seemed to see it as a sign of a job properly done.

“Aye, good on you. Means we got a good sample. Right, we’ve your contact information. You should get your results in about three days.”

“Thank you. Can you tell me where Station E is? I’m supposed to meet my partner,” Ross asked.

“West side of the park. But you can’t loiter around there, sir. It’s cordoned off. And _enforced_.”

\---

Ross stumbled out of the marquee, suddenly blinded by the bright sky overhead. Whatever clouds had been lingered on their walk earlier had since vanished and the pavement was drying quickly in the warm air. Yet in his current agitated and solitary state, the sunshine seemed an affront to him.

He had every intention of waiting for Demelza, despite the warnings he’d been given, but knew he’d have to find a spot away from the testing site, and away from scrutiny.

An idea hit him and he quickly retraced their steps along the path they’d followed when they first entered the park. The bench under the cherry tree was still covered with pink petals. It was also damp from the frequent spring showers they’d had all week, which Ross realised as soon as he sat down.

But the sweet perfume reminded him of Demelza and with every breath he took, he felt himself calming down. He was alone so he dared to lower his mask to his chin. 

This was hardly a major setback. Surely they had a standard list of questions to ask, to trace her contacts, and make sure she was acting responsibly. It was in their own best interest to get her out quickly as they had loads of other people to screen. And she’d been a model patient. What could be the fuss?

Ross closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the sun. But the warmth did nothing for him and instead he felt a chill run through his body.

“Sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to move along, sir.” A matronly woman had waddled over to his bench, her protective suit rustling where her thighs rubbed together. She also wore a bright yellow high visibility waistcoat which seemed to mark her as some sort of security personnel.

Ross heard an element of compassion in the woman's voice and wondered if allowing herself to show feelings made it easier to do the job or harder.

“I won’t be long. I'm waiting for my...partner,” Ross explained and quickly raised his mask. “I told her I’d stay close by until she was done with her test.”

“And where is she then…?”

“Station E.”

“Oh, love, that’ll be _hours_. There's already a backlog there and they have to do more follow up with each intake at E.”

“I can wait hours. I mean I have no obligations,” Ross replied, regretting that the woman would be unmoved by the smile forming under his mask. Over the years, he’d perfected the right looks--sheepish, boyish, playful, and a little flirty--to disarm others, especially if he wanted to bend the rules for his own sake. Maybe he could convey the same charm using only his eyes. 

“But you see, dear, you can't stay here--in the park I mean.” She was moved but not enough to break municipal protocols. It occurred to him that Demelza would have asked the woman her name. “That’s orders. Did you arrange a meet up with her at this very spot?”

“No, I told her I'd wait around but she’d know it would be here.” He felt confident Demelza would read his thoughts and make the connection. A lovely place, filled with lovely things. It could still be a lovely day, couldn’t it?

“You're best off getting along home then, love. Safest for everyone if we all stay indoors, you know. Besides, your partner might have exited from the west side and be home already. Waiting for you,” the woman suggested.

Ross didn't think this last part was true--hadn’t she just said there was a backlog for hours at Station E? But he suspected the white suited staff had been charged with clearing the park of anyone without urgent business and didn't want to make things more difficult for the woman. Ross nodded and made a move as though he was about to stand up.

Perhaps this woman was correct and the flat was the most logical place to wait. Best to text Demelza and let her know the new plan. He could always come back to meet her and walk her home once she was released.

 _Released._ He didn’t like that word--but it was the one that popped into his head. It implied she was being held, detained against her will even. Up to now, as bad as things had been, at least in the flat they’d been able to maintain a sense that they were largely in control of their actions. Whatever decisions they faced belonged to them alone.

But outside, in the real world, others were calling the shots. Where they went, where they assembled, how long they could remain--all were determined by someone else.

“Don’t be scared, my love,” Ross whispered. “I’m still here.”

He pulled out his mobile--Demelza’s mobile--to see if there was any word from her. There were no notifications but he couldn't be sure she hadn’t turned that app off. He went to enter her password then stopped. Something was wrong here. 

He could only enter six letters and the password she’d given him-- _Morocco-_ -was seven. Wasn’t that what she’d hinted at? It couldn't have been the word _Casablanca_ itself--that was nine. _Ricks_ and even _Paris_ were too few.

“Damn it, Demelza,” he muttered, growing impatient, and being less familiar with Android security measures, worried he might lock himself out of guesses. Did he get three tries? Why didn't she just say the password aloud? No one had been listening and even if they had, the people in the park that day were not there to steal mobiles. They all had more urgent needs.

 _Well you arrogant fool_ , _this is quite the fantasy you’ve created,_ Ross scolded himself. _Seems you can't read her mind after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same notes as last chapter. At the beginning of this story I declared it was not set in any defined place--I stand by that. This chapter in particular may not sound like how things played out in your corner of the world but is a sort of amalgamation of different testing operations, set ups, and procedures. It is in no way meant to critique the approach of all governments, as some countries seemed to handle things quite effectively (and in the US a handful of local municipalities eventually did so--maybe). Please also remember too that the timing of this chapter puts the action around late April so things we know now or accept as reasonable protocols may not have been in place “way back then”.


	19. This House Just Ain't No Home

Without removing his shoes, as had been his recent custom inside the flat, Ross headed straight for the empty kitchen and put both the parcel and the carrier bag on the table.

He examined the address label on the package again. _Demelza Carne_. He was curious what might be inside--it was squashy so perhaps it was clothes. That would make sense. Yet he found it strange that she’d had something shipped to his flat and hadn’t mentioned it to him--she'd shared so many minute details of her life with him these past weeks.

 _I think your vacuum cleaner needs a new filter. I think I’ll plait my hair again. I think I’ll use that facial masque from Caroline today. I think I might take up journaling as a hobby. I think I might give up dairy for a while._ These had all been things she’d told him recently, almost as soon as the thoughts first danced across her mind. She didn’t seem to keep much to herself these days.

Maybe there was a reason she wanted this a secret from him?

The contents of the carrier bag were not a secret. It was filled with a four pack of beer, a six pack of eggs, an eight pack of pork sausages, and two litres of milk. He had passed a small shop on his way home that happened to be open and, despite his distress, couldn't pass up the chance to duck inside. Of course once Ross stood in front of the refrigerated case, he totally panicked. The last time he’d done food shopping without consulting Demelza, it had not gone well. What would she think were their greatest priorities? 

Now as he put away the shopping, he worried she might be disappointed that he’d gotten milk since she was considering giving it up.

Ross opened a can of beer and sat down without fetching a glass. He rested his head in his hands and tried to gather his thoughts. 

Demelza was most likely fine but he had to reach her. He just had to.

And in order to do so he had two urgent tasks. First, Demelza’s mobile would need to be charged straight away. The low battery notification claimed it had 4% remaining but he had no idea what that meant with her model of phone. There was a wall socket just above the bedside table so chances were good her charger could be found there. But even if it were fully charged, there remained the issue of the passcode.

 _Six letters....Bogart?_ He almost tried it but that wasn’t related to where the film was set. She’d specifically said, “Think Casablanca-- _the setting_.”

This was ridiculous. There had to be another way to contact her. 

“Yes!” he sighed with relief when he remembered he could email her--or rather himself--since she could read an email on his mobile.

But Ross had set his own mobile so that notifications for email were turned off--he was tired of seeing so much unattended Grace business each day--and without those, Demelza wouldn't know a new email had come in or from whom. 

_Of course she won’t read or even open up my email unbidden._ That plan simply wouldn't work. But he could still use the iPad to send a message to the mobile--those she would be checking, expecting one from Ross.

Ross slammed down the can of beer which then foamed all over the table. But he left the puddle and with only a few long strides walked to the bedroom. 

There was no charger on the bedside table as he had hoped, only a mug of half drunk tea gone cold, the book she’d been reading--left upside down to hold her place--and the pad of hotel stationery she’d used to write those letters to him days earlier. Ross ran his fingers over the indentations her pen had left on the blank page--he could almost make out the words in fact. She must have a strong grip. 

As sheepish as he might feel, intruding on her space and rifling through her things, it had to be done, and he found both the charger and the iPad under a pile of clothes at the center of the bed. A sports bra, a long t shirt of his she’d been wearing lately, and her favourite grey leggings--these he gently set aside as though they were holy relics. 

“I could never really describe your eyes as saintlike, could I?” he had teased her once.

“I’m a friggin’ angel,” she’d laughed back. That had been the night they exchanged letters, hadn’t it? Another monumental moment in their developing relationship.

Once he plugged in her mobile, he sat on the bed and tapped out his message on the iPad.

 _‘Im back at the flat! Can NOT fathom password. Please send it’._ He wanted to write: ‘ _What the hell is six letters and related to Casablanca? Either I’m thick or you're mad.'_ But he did send two other follow-up texts rapid-fire: ‘ _Please tell me you're safe,’_ and _‘Anxious but I’ll wait at home until I hear from you.’_

Home. Did Demelza still consider the student flat she shared with Keren her home or had she made the mental and emotional shift, as Ross had? This place, this tiny flat on the twentieth floor of this bland block, was _their_ home--it would never be the same after what they’d been through there together. And yet it certainly didn’t feel like a home without her.

Once the message had been sent, Ross stared at the screen waiting for a response. None came so after a minute he laid back on the bed. It had been so long since he’d stretched out on his mattress or even stepped foot in the room. The bed felt wildly indulgent--soft but also responsive to his weight, a much needed relief for his tense muscles. He buried his head in the sheets and inhaled.

Her scent. He’d never before been close enough to her belongings--or her--to really register it. And yet when he took it in, it was strangely familiar, not a surprise at all. Like something he always knew.

He closed his eyes and was startled to find the stinging tears he’d experienced during his nasal swab returning. He didn't wipe them away but let them stream down his bearded cheek and fall on her pillowcase. For a man who had faithfully been observing distancing and hygiene protocols for nearly a full month, it was not exactly the most prudent action. Still, he made no immediate move to pull away.

“Demelza,” he said aloud, “What the hell have you done to me?”

\----

Ross's rational brain was running double time in an attempt to offset his heavy heart. He had no reason to believe she wouldn’t be okay although he also had no evidence to the contrary.

And as tempting as it might be to lie around and weep into her pillow, it wouldn’t bring her back or help him pass the time.

 _What would Demelza do if she had hours to kill?_ he wondered then supposed it would depend on which Demelza he was referring to--he felt as though he’d gotten to know a few iterations of the woman over time. 

Demelza when she first arrived was both desperate to make herself useful and to stay out of his way. After a few days, she grew playful but also more open with him in their hours and hours of conversation. Whilst recovering she was contemplative and honest about her limitations. Recently she’d grown restless but wasn’t afraid to show Ross when she was anxious or admit that she needed him. He didn’t want to think at all about the Demelza wedged in the middle--sick Demelza, weak and feverish. Delirious and in pain, scared and alone.

_What was it she said to me just the other day about how domestic tasks could be meditative in stressful times? That doing the washing up was almost therapeutic?_

Ross sat up and scanned the room, then got to work. He folded her clothes neatly but instead of returning them to her gym bag, he emptied some space in the top drawer and placed her belongings in there--his own things he then shoved in the closet. Next he stripped off her bed clothes, and though he hated to part with the scent she left on them, he put them in the washing machine.

The better part of two hours was spent scrubbing the bathroom, mopping the floors, emptying the bins, although they were barely filled. There was no washing up to be done but Ross put away the dishes he’d left piled in the draining rack earlier and wiped down all the work surfaces and the cooker. It was hardly a deep clean but it was noticeably tidy.

 _She’ll like this,_ he thought proudly.

He thought he should make some food--not for himself but to have ready once she walked in the door. She hadn’t eaten much that morning and knowing her appetite, he suspected she’d be ravenous when she returned.

The sausages and eggs he’d bought didn't seem like the right choices, so he sliced up some ginger and garlic and began to construct a simple yet fragrant broth. That could simmer for some time and any noodles could be added at the last moment so they wouldn’t overcook. She’d like that too. But his pride faded instantly when he realised he hadn’t picked up any veg today.

While her bedclothes hummed in the tumble dryer, he returned to the bedroom to see if there was anything else he should attend to. The windows were open as much as they could to offer a proper airing but he’d need to check the room often to make sure it didn’t grow too chilly.

 _I hope you aren’t cold, my love_. 

She hadn’t been wearing a substantial coat today, just a long sleeved t-shirt and one of his hoodies. If the wind shifted--or if the sun set--she might find herself chilly in an outdoor tent. Did they heat those things?

_What the hell can I do now?_

Still no response to his message. He considered writing another one--to share the swirling thoughts that consumed him all afternoon. Instead he reached for the pad of paper and pen next to the bed.

 _‘My dear, sweet Demelza,’_ he began. It was a clumsy and stodgy beginning but he meant it. He plowed on and found the words that followed came easily.

_‘It has been hours now and if I only knew how long you’d be gone perhaps I could better bear it--not knowing is torturous. I tell myself to be patient and wait but I also expect you to walk in the door any moment. I strain to hear any noises in the hallway that might indicate you are on your way. I imagine the wind blowing the window blinds is the lift doors opening in the corridor or perhaps your footsteps bringing you back to me._

_I’m back at the flat which seemed to make the most sense. I did try to wait around for as long as I could but I was ushered from the park on three separate occasions, each official more emphatic than the last. I trust you know I would never abandon you._

_I won’t deny that I am worried. I imagine it is worse for you--I hope you are not too anxious and are being treated well. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I_ _can't_ _imagine--can I? I have nothing in my own lifetime, in my experience to draw from. Nothing can calm my fears because I just don’t know what to expect. I think you once told me that when we can’t pinpoint our fears we become afraid of everything. Everything seems unfamiliar now, all my instincts upended. The one constant I’ve had these past weeks has been you and now that you’re gone I am completely adrift._

 _Many times this afternoon my mind wandered back to the day we first met. When I invited you to stay, what was I thinking at the time?_ _I can’t recall exactly. Of course it was the right thing to do--maybe I also saw it as a way to save myself from being alone?’_

Ross was about to add that she’d also satisfied his appetite but worried it might be misconstrued. Plus when she first arrived he hadn’t known that she’d be such a brilliant and resourceful cook.

 _‘I think I had few expectations. But I was mistaken--it was the luckiest day of my life. You were more than a mere distraction or a balm to ease my spirits._ _Your companionship, your care has_ _redeemed me. Not just in these most wretched times--I’m somehow sure of that, even though we may have to wait a bit before the clouds have passed and we can live in peace._

 _Demelza,_ _if I’ve done wrong in the past, give me a chance to fix it._ _I am forever indebted to you._

_And I miss you._

_This has hardly been poetic or well worded but it is true all the same. Please come back to me._

_Yours,_

_Ross’_

He purposely didn’t reread it, for he was certain that if he went through it line by line, he’d most likely be disappointed, compelled to crumple the page and start again. Instead he reached for the iPad. It was a struggle to get the whole letter in the camera frame and still remain close enough so that the words were legible. In the end he took two separate pictures and hoped they were clear. Once he was satisfied with the results, he sent those to Demelza as messages. He folded the sheet carefully and tucked it in her book and closed it. 

She was reading _The Bedlam Stacks_ and since she was nearly two-thirds through after only a few days, he supposed she was enjoying it. Ross hadn’t even recalled he owned a copy so he opened it again to examine. On the first page was an inscription. “ _To my_ _favourite_ _cousin, Ross. I hope you find this as enjoyable as I did--something about a Cornish smuggler reminded me of you!☺ Happy Christmas and Happy (early) Birthday, 2018, XOXO, Your_ _favourite_ _cousin,Verity.”_

‘Favourite cousin’ was a running joke between them. They only shared one other cousin, William Alfred Johns, whose name alone accurately announced he was an insufferable snob. Even as children they’d found him quite boring to be around and would contrive all manner of devices to leave him behind with the adults while they ran wild along the seashore. Ross laughed then felt ashamed that he’d never gotten around to reading such a thoughtful present from Verity, who was in fact not only his favourite cousin but one of his favourite people. And of course she’d been too tactful to ever ask him how he liked it. He also thought how Demelza and Verity would probably get on well. They enjoyed the same taste in novels, anyway.

 _Well that’s another thing Demelza would do to pass time_ , he thought.

The clean floor squeaked under Ross’s bare feet as he made his way back to the living room to find the Borges he was reading. He settled on the stiff leather sofa and sighed. It was not nearly as comfortable as the bed but would have to do. He pulled out what was marking the page where he’d left off and smiled. It was the second letter she’d written to him. He fingered it lovingly.

 _Oh Demelza, my love. Someday a grandchild will find your note that I’d tucked into a book,_ Ross thought to himself. _It will be creased and discoloured, the ink faded in some places, but any wear will be from all the years I took it out to read, over and over again. And I’ll never forget how you made my heart soar in such a grey time._

\---

Hours had passed and any peace that Ross had found clearing up or reading had long since evaporated. Demelza’s mobile was charged and it was time to once again face the passcode puzzle. He sat at the kitchen table, head in hands.

He thought about rewatching _Casablanca_ for clues but wasn’t sure he could bear it without her. 

That had been such a lovely evening--it had been her birthday and they’d shared a bottle of prosecco and sat on cushions at opposite ends of the hallway. It was the first time they openly flirted with each other and the first time he'd dared to imagine that were he to kiss her, she might kiss him back. They were in their first days of lockdown, still getting to know each other and just learning they could chat contentedly for hours. Everything was new and uncertain and scary, but they still felt connected to their old ways of life. Before she’d fallen ill and before the whole world turned upside down.

Ross picked up his warm beer and sighed.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” he said aloud, then was seized with a flash of inspiration.

He opened the iPad and googled “Famous Quotes from Casablanca” to see if that provided any insight. There was no shortage of memorable lines in the film. “Play it once, Sam. For old times’ sake”--often misquoted as “Play it again, Sam” which no character ever actually said. Then there was “Round up the usual suspects,” and “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Of course, “We’ll always have Paris” and “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”...

 _Gin joints_. That was a place, a setting, wasn’t it? No, that couldn’t be it-- _joints_ was six letters but _joint_ , singular--which is what Rick’s Cafe was--contained only five.

He opened another link to memorable dialogue and came across an exchange between Rick and Captain Renault. Rick had claimed that he’d come to Casablanca for the waters and Captain Renault responded, “The waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.” 

“I was misinformed,” Rick replied, deadpan as always.

Ross smiled again, remembering how that scene had amused Demelza so much. At first she had merely giggled but then she accidentally snorted her last sip of prosecco up her nose, causing her to break into absolute hysterics. He’d already fallen in love with her laugh by then. He’d give anything to hear it now.

“Perhaps?” Ross said and without further contemplation, tried entering ‘ _desert’_ into her mobile.

 _‘C_ _ouldn't verify your identity.’_ The message felt like a stab in the gut. 

Ross tossed the mobile down with a little more fervor than he’d intended. It skidded across the table, almost to the edge, but he managed to catch it in time. He’d certainly never reach her if he smashed the damn thing.

Desperate for a change of scenery, he rose to his feet, shoving his keys in one pocket and the mobile into the other. His plan had been to go down to the lobby and wait for her there but as soon as he stepped inside the lift, he hit the ‘up’ button instead.

\---

It really hadn’t been a foolish decision. Once Ross climbed the ladder to the very top of the roof, he found he could get an impressive view of the city in several directions. In fact he could see the road clearly and quite possibly would be able to spot her as she walked home. This gave him something to watch for--and allowed him to feel as though he was _doing_ something. If he’d gone downstairs he wouldn’t have been able to loiter on the street and the empty lobby would have done nothing to ease his agitation.

Besides, he felt closer to her up here. The first time they'd been up there had been another monumental night for them. They’d held hands, albeit briefly, and made some significant, and exhilarating, confessions to each other. It was also the same day they’d had a row so the whole adventure had held the extra tenderness of making up. 

Once again Ross looked up the road, trying to will Demelza into his sight. He rubbed his beard as he often did when frustrated.

“Ross, darlin’, try not to touch your face,” she had said to him when they were up here. It was the first time she’d called him darling and it was as though she’d invented the word just for him.

“Come back to me, my love,” he said aloud, “Come back.” 

He pulled out the mobile and stared at the locked screen.

The key was to think like Demelza Carne, not like Ross Poldark. She was so complex so this wouldn’t be easy. On the one hand there were ways in which she was simple, straight forward. Full of light and energy, keeping them both grounded and grateful and positive. But she also had depths of fears and hurts--and aspirations and dreams. 

“I’m not as one dimensional as you might think,” she’d said to him earlier that day. He'd always thought so highly of her mind and the connections she made, the observations she shared. What on earth could he have said to make her believe otherwise? And then there had been one other time, on this very rooftop, that she thought he’d doubted her intelligence…

Everything was still for a moment, as though time had stopped or at least all of Ross’s senses had frozen. Finally the sound that escaped his mouth--a pant or maybe a gasp--broke the silence. 

He knew it. 

But this time the realisation didn’t come in a flash. Instead the certainty spread through him, filling him with warmth--or maybe even faith. Like her scent, it was something he’d always known.

With a steady finger he entered Demelza’s passcode: _Monaco._

“I do know the difference. You know that, right?” her sweet, playful voice echoed in his mind as her mobile opened before him.

“Oh good god!” Ross threw his head back and cried in relief. It felt like the first time he’d truly breathed in hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a line in “Ain't No Sunshine When She’s Gone” from the Bill Withers album _Just As I Am_. Listen to this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuKfiH0Scao
> 
> (Written by Bill Withers, ©1971 Universal Music Publishing Group).
> 
> Massive thanks to Followthemoney for reminding me of the exchange in _Casablanca_ between Rick & Renault. I just had to work that in!
> 
> I borrowed liberally and then remixed key lines spoken by Ross in Debbie Horsfield’s s1, ep 4 script (“To satisfy an appetite. To save myself from being alone. Because it was the right thing to do. I had few expectations. At best, you'd be a distraction, a bandage to ease a wound. But I was mistaken. You've redeemed me. I am your humble servant, and I love you”) and added in (also remixed) from the original passage that scene was based on in Winston Graham’s _Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall_ (“Demelza, look at me. If I’ve done wrong in the past, give me leave to make amends”).
> 
> Readers will most likely recognise the odd Debbie Horsfield line here or there (Ross commenting on how he knew Demelza’s appetite, “Come back to me, my love...Come back”). All humbly borrowed with the greatest respect of course.
> 
> Also memorable lines of dialogue quoted lovingly from _Casablanca_ (Screenwriters Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein and Howard Koch, ©1942 Warner Bros).


	20. Debts

Without hesitation Ross checked the mobile for any word from Demelza.

First he opened her messages and found she’d sent a photo--a selfie. By the way she posed, sort of sideways, shoulders raised, and by the expression in her eyes, he could tell she was hamming it up for a laugh. No doubt under her mask she was making the duck face that irked her so much in the photos her mates were always posting. It was a good sign that she was holding up well enough.

Ross loved her sense of humour and would have laughed just as she’d intended, but his relief at seeing her face was instantly dashed when he read the text that came next.

‘ _Oops. Just caught hell for taking photos. Apparently that's *strictly forbidden*. They threatened to take my/your mobile so I'd better behave until I’m called. Ill text when Im all done. XO_ ’

Then he saw there were two calls that he’d missed and his stomach fell.

 _How on earth had that happened?_ He foolishly hadn't checked the ringer volume and it was just his luck that it had been switched off. 

Furious with himself, he desperately tapped the screen only to see it wasn’t Demelza who’d rung, but someone identified as ‘Lady W.’ His heart sank.

“Oh Demelza. Where are you, my love?” he groaned. 

The agitation that had taken up residency in his gut was in no way eliminated by having unlocked the mobile. It had been over six hours since Demelza sent the text and there was no indication she’d gotten or read his message. It was as if after traveling for miles, he finally held the key to open a massive gate only to find there was still a mountain to scale behind it.

Ross walked closer to the chain wire fence at the western edge of the roof.

“Here’s your grand vista, my lady,” he remembered saying to her. Now he looked out at the empty road--it hardly looked grand.

What exactly was taking so long? He suspected she must have been detained at Station E but why, he could not say.

And who was this person who had been ringing her? It was someone Demelza knew well enough to have in her contacts, but she’d never mentioned anyone called that. Again he was reminded that there were many things about her that he had yet to learn. And even more things he might never know--she had a right to her own private thoughts and needn’t share everything with him.

Whoever this person was, she’d called twice within a ten minute span this afternoon, probably when he’d been busy cleaning the flat. Lady W had not left a voice message so Ross had no way of knowing whether or not it had been urgent business.

But just as Ross was musing about the mystery caller, Demelza’s mobile buzzed in his hand--Lady W was persistent. Without hesitation he answered the call.

“This is Demelza Carne’s phone,” he said and realised his dark voice sounded stern, almost angry. Anyone trying to ring Demelza would immediately be suspicious of what he had done to her and why Ross had her mobile in his possession.

“I’m trying to reach Miss Carne,” a woman, presumably Lady W herself, replied. 

“I’m afraid she’s not in at the moment.” _But I expect her any minute, don’t I?_ “Perhaps leave her a message?”

“Well I have rung several times but she hasn’t been responding.” Clearly this woman was used to getting what she wanted. “And I’d prefer to speak to her directly. And you are…?”

“I’m her friend. She’s been staying with me during the lockdown.” Ross did not feel he owed this stranger that last piece of information.

“I’m Mrs. Whitworth, her landlady. It’s regrettable she is avoiding me,” the woman said. “This is a financial matter.” 

_Lady W...Landlady Whitworth. Very clever, Demelza_ , he thought. 

“If she is behind in her rent, please let me know and I can take care of that,” he said impulsively. Demelza’s finances were none of his business, and she would be furious to learn he’d discussed them with the landlady.

“I’m sorry, I didn't catch your name,” she sneered.

 _That’s because I didn’t tell it to you_. From the first words she’d uttered Ross thought this woman sounded pinched and mean. 

“Ross Poldark,” he said. “I can post a cheque tomorrow.” He felt certain the woman was googling him as they spoke. _Don’t worry, Grace Energy hasn't lost money in three days. I’m still worth something._ “Can you tell me how Keren is doing? Demelza has been unable to reach her,” he asked.

“Well Mr. Poldark, I couldn't really say. Miss Smith’s parents took her back home after she was discharged from hospital.”

“She was hospitalised?” Ross sputtered. “But she’s since been discharged?” Demelza would be relieved that Karen was with her family but she must still be rather ill if she was unable to respond to texts and calls. “What about her boyfriend, Mark?” he remembered to ask. “I understand he was staying in the flat?”

“He was, and quite frankly, had it not been such trying times I would have made more of an issue about that. He wasn’t on the lease, you know, but I got the impression he was there most days.”

“And he too has recovered?” _Demelza would want to know._

“I really couldn’t say. He disappeared after Miss Smith--erm, Keren--went into hospital. Yes, it was quite a circus. I've been assured though that enough time has passed since the flat was last occupied and that with a deep cleaning, I should be able to let it again.”

“You are seeking a new tenant to replace Keren?”

“No, for the entire flat, Miss Carne as well. I’ve been trying to inform her. It isn’t unreasonable--she hasn't lived there in weeks and is behind in her rent...”

“So she is in arrears,” he said gravely. Why hadn't Demelza mentioned it to Ross? But he knew the answer: pride.

“Well, she did pay _something_ this month but it simply isn’t sufficient. You see, Mr. Poldark, the two girls don't each pay separately. They are both on the lease and it is up to them together to submit the full amount. Where it comes from and how they divide it doesn’t concern me as long as I am paid what I am owed. I only received half for this month…”

“From Miss Carne,” he interrupted. “Maybe more than half?” He recalled Demelza saying her share was actually a bit more than Keren’s since she had a view from her room.

“Yes but without Miss Smith, Miss Carne is still responsible for the _full amount_. And since she hasn't paid it, I am within my rights to…”

“Demelza hasn't lived there in weeks because of the rules of the _national_ lockdown. You do see that, don’t you? She was set to return but was unable because Keren was ill in the flat. So she had no choice. And you should also know she was ill herself. She’s recovered, I'm sure you’ll be pleased to hear.” He guessed it didn’t actually matter to the woman. Most likely she did not live in the building herself but rented out this one and perhaps other crumbling flats to students--and never let an empty room lay fallow. 

“Oh was she? It is an unpleasant business, isn't it? I had a _mild_ case in early March but was able to get away to my family’s summer home to recover. I dare say I’m quite fine now--fresh country air, you know. I don’t see why everyone makes such a fuss when for _most_ people…”

Ross felt his hand tense around the mobile.

It was selfish-minded, deliberately ignorant people like this woman who were making things so bad. Using their privilege to skirt the rules of lockdown, spreading their contagion wantonly, minimising the danger and spouting misleading statistics, unable to imagine that every life lost was an actual person with a story--and with people who loved them. He thought of Demelza’s suffering and of Dwight’s daily ordeals. And to think they were the lucky ones.

 _Good god, this woman is most likely the very source of Demelza’s infection._

And she was now trying to throw Demelza out on the street. He felt he could commit murder. Instead he pulled out his professional demeanor and tried a different tack.

“To be frank, Mrs. Whitworth, if you are planning to evict Miss Carne in the middle of a pandemic, the law is not exactly on your side.” Ross had no idea if this was correct. It certainly _shouldn't_ be legal to evict people in these times.

“Are you…a solicitor?” She maintained her sneer but he could detect a slight crack--she was almost afraid. He must have sounded convincing.

“No, but I'm happy to consult mine tomorrow just to make sure. In the meanwhile, I shall pass on to Miss Carne your concerns about her health and the news that Keren is safely recovering with her family.”

Ross rang off without saying goodbye.

Once again he scanned the road in all directions. It was empty save one lone car that turned north and vanished from sight. No people were out but he’d grown used to that norm. Would he even be able to recognise Demelza--or at least her gait--from up here, from such a distance? 

Around him the sky was dimming, but a soft hopeful glow remained, evenly diffused through the deep blue duskiness. It was just after 8PM. Soon all light would be gone and he hadn’t brought a torch. He’d best return to the flat and maintain his gloomy vigil there.

What to do next? Tonight he had no choice but to wait and no resources upon which to call for help. But if Demelza didn’t return by morning--he hated to think that might be the case--he could ask Dwight for advice on tracking her. And tomorrow he would consult Pascoe or maybe Clymer from the legal team they employed at Grace Energy. They dealt exclusively with contract law, but perhaps they could still share some insight on Demelza's case with her landlady. And Ross would have to make a decision about paying Keren’s share of the rent. He had been happy to do it earlier but now wasn't keen on giving Mrs. Whitworth an extra cent. 

Although once or twice Demelza had probed him about Grace’s profitability, they’d never really spoken about her own money issues. Ross assumed she had her share of struggles but she hadn’t ever complained. Of course she'd been without any work for a month so the pressures would surely be mounting. 

He’d tried a few times but had been unable to convince her to accept payment for cleaning the flat during the first weeks of lockdown. It was well-deserved but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“And since you’ve nursed me back to health, given up your bed, and taken over kitchen duties, I am in debt to you, Ross,” she had argued the last time he had offered.

“You owe me nothing, Demelza,” he’d replied. 

He hadn’t pushed it but now he wished he had.

Ross had another thought, one he guiltily tried to push away but found he could not. If Demelza was to be evicted, would it not make sense for her to stay on with him, even after the lockdown was over? To move in properly? The flat was small but not impossible for two people, and was even considered large by the city’s distorted standards. And they'd already made it work, even if occasionally they’d bemoaned the drawbacks of highrise living.

“My next flat should have a balcony,” he had said to her one day when they both were feeling a little stir crazy. He’d been standing as close as he could to the kitchen window, opened just a few frustrating inches. He tried to breathe in some cool air but found it rather unsatisfying.

“No, your next flat should be...ground level with a back garden!” she’d countered.

“That sounds like your dream,” he’d laughed. He’d imagined how she’d tend to it, placing all sorts of potted herbs and flowers about, somehow managing to make even a crumbling concrete pad look appealing.

“Oh Ross, I'd settle for a window box and one withered geranium!”

There could be no window box on the twentieth floor. Maybe that was the solution--to look for a new flat together. 

But when Demelza had told her tale of living with a previous boyfriend, she made it clear that it hadn’t gone well--and she had no regrets about striking out on her own. Perhaps she was not too eager to jump back into a living situation with a lover, certainly not one she'd met only twenty-eight days earlier. And one who technically was not even her lover yet.

Then again, in her text she had clearly used the term ‘home’ referring to the flat. What could that mean?

They had no options until the lockdown was lifted anyway so it wasn't really something to think about quite yet. And what Ross really wanted to concentrate on was finding out where the hell she was and how to get her back.

\--

Ross took the lift down. He would have preferred to take the stairs--he’d been on a mental tour of memorable moments with Demelza and even the foul stairwell reminded him of her. But he was anxious to get back to the flat and, as he’d pointed out to her that very morning, the lift was faster.

 _My hope has faded_ , he thought as he pressed the buttons and watched the lift doors close in front of him. What had she said about hope? In order to have hope you needed someone to share it with? _Yes, well now I am alone._

He slipped the key in the lock of his door and paused before turning. He’d need to find the strength to face the empty flat without her.

But despite his mind’s pause, his hands operated on their own out of habit and pushed open the door. As soon as he stepped inside, he once again felt his breath knocked from him. This time it wasn’t what he smelled but what he heard. 

The sound of the shower running in the bathroom--and a familiar voice singing slightly out of key.

"I'm happy, hope you're happy too..."

She was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m happy, hope you’re happy too…” from “Ashes to Ashes” lyrics by the beloved late David Bowie. © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Tintoretto Music. Listen to this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyMm4rJemtI


	21. New Rules

“Demelza!” Ross called out and without any flicker of reservation pushed open the bathroom door.

“Oh! Ross! Ross!” Demelza cried joyously from behind the shower curtain, then shut off the water. She peeked out through the shower curtain. “You're back! Where had you gone?” An enormous smile spread across her face. 

He hadn’t seen that in weeks.

“ _You’re_ back! But are you okay?” he asked frantically. 

“Me? I’m fine, really. A bit rattled but more so that you weren’t here,” she said, still waiting for an explanation from him.

“I just went up to the…” He realised he wasn't wearing his mask and pulled it from his pocket, holding it in place over his mouth. “I stepped out to look for you coming but must have missed you. It doesn't matter--good god, I was worried.”

“I’ll be out in a second. I just had to wash the...sensation off. I felt so exposed.”

“And I've just burst in on your privacy, I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly and began to back away.

“Ross, I’ve no false sense of modesty around you. Please--we tossed polite pretenses out the window after my second day here!”

_She means when I walked in on her sleeping nude._

“But, really, I’ll be out in a minute,” she said again. “Oh, I have so much to tell you!”

“I’ll make you some tea,” he offered, nodding his head and grasping the door knob for support. His legs felt weak.

It was only minutes later that she emerged from the bath and stood in the hallway, her eyes beaming at him as he finished the tea.

“I’m never leavin’ this flat again,” she laughed. “That looks heavenly.”

He pushed a chair into the hallway so she could sit but instead she leaned on it and stretched.

“I’ve been sittin’ all day,” she explained.

“What accounted for the delay?” he asked, trying to hide the desperation that still coursed through his body.

“Waitin’ mostly. I just sat in a hard plastic chair for literally hours. I was too afraid to pull out the mobile for any diversion and also well, I didn't want it compromised by contagion, you know. I think I did doze a little but then I got terrified I’d lose my place in the queue if they called me and I was sleepin’ through it. And for the last three hours I had to pee terribly.”

“What did they do? They did test you?”

“Yes, that took seconds, really. But I had to wait for them to ask me questions. Where I’d been, who I’d been with. They led me all the way back to the second week in March. It was hard to recall who I saw then and most of my answers were vague. But it was very straightforward once I got to the day I landed here. They seemed impressed with our responsible approach here in the flat,” she laughed. 

He had a million more questions but thought to give her space to explain before he jumped in.

“They seemed to find it inconceivable that a man and a woman could live in close proximity and not give in to sex. Must have asked me that three or four different ways and didn’t believe it when I said that we had kept our distance. I wondered why they kept pressing until I remembered that I’d listed you as my domestic partner, not my flatmate! Maybe they thought we were overly religious or somethin’.”

“And then what?” he asked.

“That was it. After someone came around to ask me the tracin’ questions, I was told I’d expect my results in about three to four days and then I was free to go. So I walked home.”

“But it was dark!”

“It only just got dark as I was walkin’ up our road. It wasn’t bad at all and it wasn’t rainin’ so that’s somethin’ to be grateful for.”

“Why didn’t you text? I would have come to meet you.” He pulled back at once, aware of the dark tone creeping into his words. What’s done was done-- was he really reproaching her for returning home safely?

“I did! Just as I was leavin’...” She pulled out his mobile from her pocket and looked at the screen in disgust. “Oh for fuck’s sake--I forgot to hit send! What the hell is wrong with me? Do you think I’ve some cognitive dysfunction?”

“No, no. I’ve done it a hundred times,” he tried to soothe her. “And you were so distracted today. We both were. It means nothing more than that.”

“If you say so, Ross,” she said and handed the iPhone over to him. “By the way, I rather like your mobile, Ross. It’s far fancier than mine but I suppose you need all that flash for work. I mean you're always travelin’, right? Ross? What’s wrong? What are you lookin’ at?”

It was the second time that day she’d worn his dressing gown. Somehow the morning and their eager preparations before they set out together seemed so long ago-months even. He'd traveled so far emotionally in a single day. Once again he was struck how the blue-green colour of the robe brought out the gleam of her hair, the sparkle in her eyes.

Her long neck was exposed again and a single wispy curl escaped from her swept-up knot. Judging by the way she brushed it away like a pesky fly, he sensed it tickled her. Where else was she ticklish, where was that gloriously smooth skin extra sensitive? Extra soft? After spending the afternoon with his head buried in her pillow, Ross thought he knew what it would smell like. 

“Erm, nothing.” He managed to pull himself together, aware that he’d been staring at her like a thirsty vampire about to pounce. He handed her a cup of tea then moved back inside the kitchen. “You should keep that--the robe--it looks good on you,” he said. Behind his mask he gave a soft smile. 

_You ask for so little, Demelza, but do you know I’d give you everything?_

“That reminds me this is for you…” From the kitchen table, he retrieved the parcel that had come for her earlier that day. 

“I don’t believe it!” she laughed. “I placed this order weeks ago and only now has it come. I didn’t even receive a notice that it had been delivered. Oh right, I didn’t have my mobile! Did you get a message?”

“No. It was in a pile in the lobby with the other post. I wasn’t expecting anything so I almost passed it by but just happened to check the label. So…tell us what it is?” he coaxed. Curiosity getting the better of him, he craned to see the contents as she ripped open the edge of the packaging.

“No, Ross! It was meant to be a surprise,” she said and turned her back on him, clutching the package close. He didn't think she was really annoyed with his prying, she was just being playful.

“I'd rather not have any more surprises if that's quite alright with you.” He shook his head and sighed.

“Well you’ll like this one, Ross, so let’s just leave it at that for now.”

“Demelza? I meant to ask...how did you get back into the flat? I had the key.”

“And so do I,” she said proudly. “I mean, Arthur holds the spare and gives it to us--when we come to clean or fix plumbin’ or whatever we little service people do,” she said with an eye roll. “Fortunately for all parties I forgot to hand it back over to him on the day I came to do your deep clean. I was so worried about the impendin’ lockdown, and he and I had chatted about that, and we both must have been distracted. Come to think of it, when I came back after findin’ the Underground wasn’t runnin’, he wasn’t around at all, which is why I came back upstairs to your flat.”

“Remind me to thank him for such a well-timed dereliction of duty,” Ross said.

“Don’t worry, Ross, Arthur is very professional and only hands the key over once we are vetted and on ‘the list’--and we still have to present appropriate ID each time, even if he recognises us. He is usually quite fastidious about collectin’ keys back when we are done. So even though _I_ managed to breach it, your security is still ace.”

“I am not worried about that, I assure you. Keep it for now. I doubt I’ll be having any servicing done any time soon.” 

It usually meant something to give a mate--or a significant other--your flat key. It was a marker of intimacy, of deep trust. Would she see his intentions now or just read this as one more way they were living with new rules? 

He stopped for a moment to think about Arthur, and hoped the concierge would still have a job to return to. The property managers were a faceless corporation, located in another city, maybe even another country. They probably consulted actuarial tables to compute the risk of an unmanned lobby compared to the savings of shedding one more employee. Perhaps he should go down and check that the main door was firmly shut and locked. 

“Ross?” Softly she called him back again.

“I made you some soup if you are…” he offered.

“Hungry? Absolutely starved. You know I smelled it as soon as I got off the lift! Such a homecomin’--only you weren't here--but still it was welcomin’.”

“That was the idea,” he said.

“And the cleanin’? What was behind that? Tryin’ to erase all traces of me? Or are you wantin’ rid of me, now that you know you can get along fine all by yourself?” 

“No! Never!” he said quickly then saw she was joking. He was just still too raw and shaken to see her tease was an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It was very well done, Ross, if you want my professional opinion.” 

“Demelza, I hope you know I don't want you to go,” he said. _Please don’t ever leave again. “_ Stay as long as you’d like--oh shit!” He remembered the bad news he’d need to break to her somehow. Maybe it would keep until tomorrow.

“Are you already regrettin’ you said that?” she laughed. Then she seemed to see he was troubled. “Tell me Ross, what is it?” she said gently.

“It’s... well, I have some disturbing news. I spoke to Mrs. Whitworth this evening,” he began.

“My landlady?” she asked clearly trying to puzzle out how that might have happened or why. “Oh God! Keren! No!” she cried in a panic.

“No, no, it’s not that, shh shh,” he tried to allay her greatest fear. “As you’d feared, Keren _was_ ill--and most likely still is--but she’s gone home to her parents. They are caring for her now…”

“But she’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“Oh thank god,” she said and sat down on the chair with a plop, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “And Mark?”

“Not sure. Mrs. Whitworth only said he’d disappeared.”

“Well I can't say I'm heartbroken by that. I only mildly tolerated him and didn’t really think they were a good match. He liked her more than she liked him and that’s never a good start. But I do hope he’s recovered. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy...Ross, why were you speakin’ to Mrs. Whitworth?”

“I'm so sorry. Your mobile rang and I impulsively answered it. I was so desperate to hear from you and I see I had no business…”

“Ross, don’t be silly. I already told you I’m way past havin’ any false sense of privacy with you! I willingly gave you my mobile and my password.”

“You didn't actually give me your password but made me work hard for it.”

“Which you did brilliantly but that’s another conversation.”

“Demelza,” he began then sighed. Better to get it over with. “Mrs. Whitworth is looking for new tenants for your flat. To replace you both…”

“I suppose I’m not surprised,” Demelza said rather evenly. She was taking the news well. “I paid her my share but knew she’d get all persnickety...is that the word? No, she’s parsimonious--there should be a word that is a combination of both those things. Anyway there's just no human heart there and also no reasonin’ with her. She’s rather mean…”

“I sensed that too.” Ross vowed not to tell her right now that Mrs. Whitworth had most likely been the cause of her infection.

“Of course her first response wouldn’t be to have sympathy for those sufferin’ but she’d see it as a business opportunity. Fuck capitalism! Oh sorry--that’s your bread and butter too, isn’t it, Ross?” she said.

“Indeed it is. But tell me, do you want this capitalist to pay the rest of your rent this month? To buy you some time?”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said quickly.

“Well whether you ask me to or not, I’ll at least speak to my solicitor to see if Mrs. Whitworth even has any legal legs to stand on. There may be some municipal moratorium on evictions at the moment. I thought I read that.”

“It's so pointless for her to act on this now! No one can go anywhere so it's not like someone else can move in! And how the hell do I even get my stuff?”

“We can hire removers. As soon as we find ones available--I can't imagine they'd be considered essential workers.”

“I don’t really have that much. None of the furniture is mine. Just clothes, books, my laptop, a really sweet stand mixer, and some mismatched dishes. It would fit in the boot of a car. Even a small one. But then where do I go…?”

“You’re not going to be homeless, you know. I’ve said a hundred times before, you can stay here as long as you'd like.”

“Oh Ross, that's so generous,” she looked up at him with warm eyes.

_Was that a yes?_

“Let’s just see what happens next…” she sighed.

_Was that a no?_

“You say Keren’s with her parents? I think I can message her mum through Facebook…” she said, still worried about her former flatmate’s well being.

“I’ll go get the iPad and here’s your mobile, of course,” he said. He wished he could pull her into an embrace. He felt certain that was what she clearly needed. He knew he did.

\------

“New rules,” Demelza declared, stepping forward over the threshold into the living room. She’d eaten two bowls of soup and settled into what she referred to as her ‘night time pajamas’.

“Oh?” Ross asked with a raised brow, putting down his laptop to give her his full attention.

“Yes, we get to be in the same room. No more of this ‘your side, my side of the flat’ bullocks. We’ll still stay two meters apart and wear masks for now…” she explained.

“Works for me but why the change of heart?” he asked.

“I’ve runnin’ through it in my head. I was in close proximity to all kinds of strangers today--about as close as I’ve ever been to you. They were wearin’ masks and the staff did order us to keep apart but that's it.”

“You were outside at least, even if it was a tent. That seems to matter,” he interjected to reassure her even though he wasn’t sure where she was going in her logic.

“Yes but I don’t know who they all were and what each of their risk levels was. I assume, but was never told for certain, that all of us at Station E had had some exposure and that’s why they tossed us all together. Oh but I stayed farther away than directed, mind you,” she added quickly. “And so I thought about it, Ross. I know _exactly_ where you've been the past month and you know where I've been. You know when I exhibited my last symptom and I know you haven’t shown any. It’s been exclusively you and me alone for a really long time. I know far more about you than the folks in that tent so I think...we can relax some precautions in our own flat.”

_Our own flat._

“I agree,” he said. “I only wish it were a bigger flat so we had more rooms to choose from.”

“Still we can watch a film tonight, in here, and...both sit on the sofa,” she said.

“Is that far enough away?” He tried to span the length with his arms to get an accurate measure and didn’t really think it necessary to pull out the measuring tape.

“If you sit at one end and I at the very other...I think so. It’s a rather long sofa--even if _your_ feet dangle over the side when you sleep on it,” she laughed. “That reminds me, since you washed all the bedclothes and cleaned up in the bedroom, you get your bed back tonight, Ross.”

“No Demelza, you've had quite a day so why don't you..” he began.

“Stop playin’ the martyr, Ross,” she laughed again. “You know you want it! We’ll take it in turns every few days and it's time you had a nice stretch out on that glorious mattress. Besides I'm so happy to be home I’d sleep on the kitchen floor. But Ross...” She suddenly grew serious and lowered her voice and her eyes. “Look, we’ve made it this far, let's just wait the three days until we get our results before we...erm…”

“Unmask?” he offered. He knew what she meant. It was very much on his mind too. “So what are we watching?” he asked her, changing the subject quickly.

“ _Silence of the Lambs,”_ she declared. “Since you put that in my mind this mornin’.”

“I did? Will that be too intense? Too frightening maybe?”

“I want to be reminded of a very different kind of scary. A very specific one. You wisely said that when you are afraid but don’t know what you are afraid of, you end up bein’ afraid of everythin’...”

“It was you that said that,” he laughed.

“I did? Must have been somethin’ I read. But I think it’s true. We can focus our fear on somethin’ we know isn’t real.”

“Sounds strategic,” he said.

“But don’t get any ideas.”

“Ideas?” he asked, trying to keep up.

“From Hannibal Lecter...on how to best kill me.”

“I promise I will be entirely original when the time comes.”

\-----

Ross woke to a familiar and most welcome smell. Less than ten feet away in the kitchen, coffee was being brewed. Demelza must already be up and according to the new guidelines they’d established the night before, the kitchen was once again shared territory. He was about to object to her waiting on him, but thought she was probably greatly enjoying those small tasks. It had been so long since she’d been able to even make herself a pot of tea--he couldn’t take that away from her out of some misplaced sense of pride.

Yesterday had been such an awful day full of tension and worry. All afternoon and well into the evening he’d imagined the worst--and yet it had ended so calmly, so comfortably, lounging in the same room together, so relieved to share each other’s company. He couldn’t use the word ‘satisfying’, for the frustration he felt at being unable to properly touch her was still consuming him. 

And he remained confident that the longing was not one sided. As they sat next to each other on the sofa, he’d quite a few times caught her watching him. Her eyes glowed soft and warm in the dim room--he no longer needed to see her mouth to understand the emotions legible on her face.

It hadn’t been long into the film that she stretched out and put her feet in Ross’s lap. At first he’d chuckled at her audacity but then found he loved having that small bit of contact. She was wearing his oversized ski socks and while he would have liked to touch her skin--and perhaps test out his ticklish theories--he was still enthralled by the woman the feet were attached to and accepted whatever he could get. He stroked them lovingly then moved his fingers more deliberately to offer a massage through the thick wool.

“Good god, that feels amazin’!” she’d purred. He almost mentioned that a sensual foot massage was considered an aphrodisiac in some cultures, but decided against heightening the sexual tension. It had already taken up residence on the sofa between them and was hard to ignore.

Three-quarters of the way through the film, Demelza fell asleep, but considering how harrowing the day had been for her, Ross didn’t try to rouse her. Gently he slid out from under her legs and switched off the telly. Then breaking their distancing standards for just a moment, he leaned over and slipped a pillow under her tousled hair. He pulled the blanket over her and only then did he gingerly remove the mask from her face.

She didn’t wake but smiled softly before rolling on her side.

 _You clever little minx_ , he'd thought. _So you got your way and will sleep on the sofa after all._

Now, as the morning sun crept in through the half-pulled blinds, he looked up and saw her awake and crouching just outside his bedroom door. She placed a cup of coffee on the designated spot on the floor then scampered off with a giggle. 

A moment later the iconic vocal swells and recognisable piano opening of “Dancing Queen” filled the flat.

Ross happily retrieved the cup and went back to bed. In a minute he’d get up and offer to help with breakfast, but he wanted just one more minute to luxuriate on the mattress. He hadn’t slept so well in weeks.

“Mornin’ Ross! Sleep well?” Demelza reappeared, reading his mind, or maybe his face.

He looked over his coffee cup and saw that along with his rolled up pajama bottoms, she was wearing a strappy black vest. The top was new and was likely something that arrived in her mystery package the day before. Of course it would make sense that she’d order underthings--it must have grown tiresome to wash out the same three pairs of knickers in the bathroom sink over and over. On some days, when all three were left to dry on the heater, he suspected she’d just gone without.

But why not tell him? Hadn't she said there were no pretenses with her? It didn’t quite make sense that she’d have no problem hanging her underwear around for him to see yet remain too shy to _mention_ them?

Or maybe, despite her protestations to the contrary, she did just want to carve out a few inches of privacy. He’d already answered her mobile, interrupted her shower, rifled through all her clothes, and had seen her nude more than once. Let her have her secrets.

“Okay, Poldark. Finish that cup and get on your feet,” she ordered.

“My feet? Do you have chores for me?”

“No, suppose I have other plans for you.”

“Yes, Demelza?”

“Well, I promised you a dance party weeks ago, and I’m afraid it is quite overdue.”

“At nine o’clock in the morning?”

“Goodness, is it that late? No, it’s only quarter to... Listen, Ross, Abba is playin’ and you know what that means…”

“Do I?”

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” she began.

“That’s Jane Austen not Abba,” he interrupted.

“Oh I'm sure she'd agree that it is a universally acknowledged truth that any abled person, when they hear Dancing Queen, is obliged to dance...especially if it is a single man in possession of a good fortune.”

“Am I in possession of a good fortune?” he asked playfully.

“Your fortune is lookin’ better than mine!” she laughed. They both tactfully ignored the “in want of a wife” clause she had left off from the original Austen quote. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree with the first part of your dictum...I’m just not sure my dancing skills would be considered my most attractive asset.”

“Let me be the judge of that, Poldark.”

Her arms were up over her head now and his eyes were fixed on her long body as she began to sway on her feet with the music. She saw she’d caught his gaze so she wriggled a little more deliberately before twirling in exuberant circles while singing along.

“ _You can dance, you can_...what’s that next line? I never did catch it properly,” she stopped and asked him with dead seriousness.

“Jive,” he laughed, amused at her performance.

“Right... _See that girl, watch that scene, digging the dancing queen,_ ” she jumped back into her singing only a half a beat behind, off mostly from laughing.

He wanted nothing more than to leap to his feet and join her. Maybe take her hands in his and pull off some more coordinated disco steps--was there room for that in the narrow hallway? Perhaps he’d come up behind her and once she sensed he was close, she’d turn and throw her arms around his neck. She’d press her torso to his and their hips would move together in time, while their eyes locked.

But Ross was reluctant to even pull back the duvet lest yet again his morning erection betray him. 

“Maybe I’ll just slip into the toilet first…” he mumbled and was instantly grateful that she turned away and danced back into the kitchen to give him space to get to the bathroom door. Or was she being purposefully discreet?

 _She knows it happens, why not name it?_ he thought as he closed the bathroom door behind him. Indeed they’d long ago tossed polite pretenses out the window. Her exact words.

When he remerged, he found her in the kitchen, pulling out a frying pan and continuing her seductive hip wiggle in time to the music. She was enchanting.

 _“_ _Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah,_ ” he called out, not too mortified at his own voice. He knew it would please her to play along. He moved closer and opened the fridge without stepping more than one foot into the room. Reaching in, he pulled out the packet of sausages he’d bought the day before, then once she was facing him again, he tossed them gently to her. 

Then he did a double take and re-examined the contents of the refrigerator.

Another packet of sausage, another litre of milk, more eggs. On the work surface sitting upright in a glass of water was a fresh bunch of basil. A pile of dark green spinach leaves was waiting in the sink to be rinsed.

“Demelza!” he said. “On your way home yesterday, did you …”

“Do a spot of shoppin’? Why yes I did--and I see you did as well. We’ll be set with milk and sausages for days! Great minds think alike, I suppose.”

“Well this great mind didn’t bring home any veg. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure I saw anything green. How did you manage it?”

“I asked and the gent at the till was very accommodatin’--it’s possible he gave me some spinach and herbs from his private stash. I expected the prices to be exorbitant but it was reasonable.”

“It would have still been light when you got home if you hadn’t stopped,” he chided.

“Ross? Are we still goin’ on about that? There was absolutely no one about, so I assure you it was far safer than any ordinary night!”

“Well let me pay you back,” Ross said quickly. He knew her finances were at an all time low and she needn’t risk an overdrawn account just so he could have an omelet.

“Later. No money talk before breakfast.” She casually brushed off his suggestion and wouldn’t be pulled into an argument about it.

“Is that another of your decrees?” he asked.

“I’m sure that’s a rule in polite circles,” she replied.

“I thought we had agreed, Demelza” he began and paused until he was sure he had her attention again, “that we’d long ago moved beyond politeness between us.” He’d drawn out the words, his mischievous undertones were unmistakable. 

Now it was his turn to be casual. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. He saw her eyes go to his strong arms and linger there. Behind his mask he felt his tongue peek out between his teeth.

“Yes, Ross,” she said softly. “We most certainly had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I borrowed playfully and with respect from our beloved Poldark scripts (“You be wantin’ rid of me?” and “Suppose I have other plans for you”). Thanks to Debbie Horsfield (and of course Winston Graham) for these characters and their recognizable dialogue.
> 
> Thanks also for indulging another Austen allusion here (“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”― _Pride and Prejudice_ ).
> 
> Sorry if you find “Dancing Queen” the tropiest, fluffiest choice to dance to here but I was unable to resist it, and defending its cheering power is one mountain I will die on. We’ve had some stressful times over here the past few weeks (we’re all fine--just far too many work commitments for summer--or for my tastes) and I needed this song to release some tension. It worked for me and I hope it works for you. Listen to our classic here (and if seeing their smiling faces doesn’t move you to tears, well...then I’m afraid I can’t help you):
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFrGuyw1V8s
> 
> Songwriters: Stig Erik Leopold Anderson / Benny Goran Bror Andersson / Buddy Mccluskey / Mary Mccluskey / Bjoern K. Ulvaeus. “Dancing Queen” lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group


	22. You Should Always Wear My Clothes

The dry weather they’d been graced with for the past thirty-six hours came to an abrupt end and the sky grew darker than what might be expected for late afternoon. Sheets of rain splattered noisily against the windows, determined to filter out any remaining light. 

Ross exhaled--a sigh but when he examined it he realised he was feeling rather content. The sudden cloudburst wasn’t oppressive but instead a much needed release of the pressure that had been hovering in the air for days. 

_Besides, Demelza likes the rain,_ he thought.

In another room gentle fingers had switched on a lamp and the warm glow made the flat seem cosy and inviting. It was certainly exactly where he wanted to be at that moment.

“I hope you don't mind, I've stolen these pajama bottoms too, Ross,” Demelza apologised as they met in the hallway just outside the kitchen. She was wearing another pair of his flannel bottoms that she’d had to roll up so she didn’t trip. She’d changed into a long sleeved t shirt and even though she was well-covered, he could still spy her contours. Was that top new as well? He didn’t recognise it.

She looked comfortable, like someone very much at home, and he imagined how soft she’d feel to cuddle with. A late afternoon nap, their warm bodies intertwined on the sofa. Outside the rain would be falling but even if a tempest was blowing, inside they’d be at ease and safe...it wouldn’t be long now.

“You should always wear my clothes,” he said, aware that he’d been staring at her. “I was just getting myself a beer. Would you like one? You know, Demelza, after all these weeks, I wasn’t sure if you liked beer. The shop didn't have any wine, I’m afraid.”

“I know--believe me, I asked!” Then she seemed to check her cool tone and switched to the soft voice she used frequently with him to show her gratitude. “But really, this is lovely, Ross. And besides, I’ve been known to order a pint at my local every now and then.”

“No _half_ pints for the lady?” he teased.

“Half pints? Oh Ross, I thought you knew me by now,” she laughed and hung her head in feigned disappointment.

“Of course you don't do anything in half measures, do you?” he replied. It was the right answer for her eyes brightened immediately. She had understood and accepted the compliment.

“ _I_ _know what you think, the girl means business so I'll offer her a drink_ …” she sang along with the music, then turned to him, her brows knitted in exaggerated consternation. “Should I be worried that you now doubt I’m a proper lady?” she asked.

“Never. Your manners are impeccable, my love,” he answered. It was true. There were times her fiery temper flared and her language grew colourfully expressive, but no more so than his. She didn’t hold it all in and create some facade of well-bred indifference like some other women he knew. Was that something still taught in posh boarding schools? 

No, Demelza was real. And her manners were evident where it mattered most. She was generous and would give the shirt off her back to help a stranger. She’d never take what wasn’t rightfully hers and she was kind--at least she’d been so to Ross. 

“There’s no question there,” he added.

 _“La question c'est voulez-vous?_ ” she said, then burst into giggles.

“What?” he asked frantically, almost spilling the beer he’d been pouring into a glass for her.

“Oh relax. It was just the lyrics--to the song that’s playin’?” she explained, apparently amused by his reaction.

All day long Abba had interspersed their playlist with only short pauses so Ross could do a few video conferences with his office. The song up now wasn’t as familiar to him as some others so he didn’t quite have all the lyrics at his fingertips--as she clearly seemed to. 

“ _I'm really glad you came, you know the rules, you know the game...Master of the scene_ …”

He listened carefully and smiled. The rain added another percussive layer to the driving disco beat.

“Besides Ross, I think we’ve moved beyond the formal _‘vous,’_ haven’t we?” she said. He imagined that under her mask her lips were twisting into a seductive grin.

_And you already know the answer to cette question, don’t you, Demelza?_

“Cheers--or should I say _Skål_?” He set her glass at the edge of the table and moved to the other side of the kitchen, closer to the window. He leaned back in his chair, trying to gauge what was happening outside, but the streaks and steam on the pane obscured any view.

She sat down and raised her glass to him before lifting her mask just enough to take a sip. 

Ross caught her tongue peek out to lick the foam from her bottom lip. He forgot he’d been balancing on the back two legs of the chair only and had his quick foot not reached the floor first to right his weight, he’d have ended up sprawled on his backside.

She was unable to contain a snicker at his near pratfall and he couldn’t help but to join in. The dim room grew warmer and brighter as their laughter mingled together.

“Okay maybe that’s enough Abba for one day,” she said when the song came to a close. “Perhaps just one more but let’s make it count--’SOS’ or ‘The Winner Takes it All’? What's your pick, Ross?”

“Whatever you fancy. But...does this mean we’re goin’ to have to watch _Mamma Mia_ tonight?”

“Erm Ross...may I confess somethin’?”

“Yes?”

“I can't stand that film. I'm sorry--I know it’s fun and fluffy and sweet as hell... “

“You don't have to convince me. It's not exactly my favourite either.”

“No, no I see that it wouldn’t be.” She considered his words seriously.

“Because I’m an insufferable cynic?” he asked.

“Not exactly insufferable…maybe a _committed_ cynic?”

“Okay, you, Demelza, are most certainly not cynical, so tell me, why don’t you care for it?”

“Well Ross, for starters, I watched it too many times--a while ago when I was feelin’ sorry for myself,” she explained.

_After a break up?_

“So now I find it...depressin’,” she added.

“Depressing?”

“Yes. For one thing--everyone in it seems to feel _too good_. Like the people on screen are certainly having more fun than you are. And it always makes me want to go to Greece and that’s not happenin’ anytime soon. And...I sorta don’t have much patience for romantic comedies.” She took a long draught of her beer to punctuate her argument.

“Really?” He raised a brow, surprised by that last point. “I wouldn’t have expected that considering your demographic.”

“My _demographic_? Because I’m a _woman_?” Now she raised a brow, clearly questioning his assessment.

“A _young_ woman.” He knew he was digging his hole deeper but couldn’t resist. “What about _Bridget Jones Diary_? _Notting Hill_? _Love Actually_?” Now he was goading her.

“Does every single romantic comedy have to feature Hugh Grant?” She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Oh I’m quite sure that’s an official rule of the genre, either him or Colin Firth.” He bit his lip. He was having fun with this.

“My mates would have my head for sayin’ this but _Love Actually_ is actually the worst. The plotlines are simply unbelievable.”

“Isn't that the point of romantic comedies?” he asked.

“Yes except that in that film, one plotline _is_ believable--the one with Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman--and it’s so devastatin’...ugh, I just can’t stomach infidelity.”

“I’ll remember that,” he laughed. “Huh...I had you figured all wrong, Demelza.” He scratched his beard to emphasise his puzzled state.

“Me or my demographic?” she teased. “I told you I’m not as one dimensional as I come across.”

“No, I just thought you were a bit more of a...romantic.”

“Oh but I am!” she cried indignantly as if he had delivered the deepest insult. She’d taken his bait. 

“Prove it.” He hadn’t expected this to be so easy.

“What?”

“Let’s see your stuff, Carne.” His brows were getting quite the workout. Now he raised one playfully.

“You can’t just demand romance,” she scoffed. “If it’s real, it comes when it comes.”

“Sounds like a lot of hemming and hawing…”

“And you think you can do so much better?” she challenged. Her competitive side was getting riled up--just as he’d predicted.

“Oh I already have,” he chuckled confidently.

“Well, you think just because you...you took me up to the roof when I was starvin’ for fresh air--which you only did because you were worried I was cross at you.”

“It wasn't the only reason.” But she was right--he had been worried that day that he’d ruined his chances with her.

“Don’t forget the chocolate,” he added casually.

“Damn! No, no--I gave _you_ chocolate first, before I even knew you, Ross, so that cancels yours out!”

“Fair. But I believe if you scour your mind you might think of a few more things…”

Reluctantly she continued. “Yes, yes, so you wrote me a couple of letters…”

“Three. Three letters,” he said cooly. “And you wrote me…?”

“Maybe _only_ two--but two solid gold ones!” She pouted for a moment then grew excited. “Oh! Oh! I showed you the moon! Yes! Way back when I first came--remember? From the window because I thought it was so pretty and that you’d like it. Ha, ha!” 

“I do remember and that was exactly why I pointed out the daffodils to you…” he parried.

“Ugh! Okay...and it was sweet on my birthday that you also gave me prosecco…and the penguins were a nice touch too…” she paused. “Oh, Ross, you absolute bastard! You are…”

“Say it…” he said and took a drink from his glass.

“Ross, you are a right…” She mumbled the rest of her sentence.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Ross is a...?”

“A fuckin’ romantic!”

“And you, Demelza, are not too shabby yourself.”

“I know,” she said with a puffed up, mock pride. “Ross?” she asked, then paused. Now she sounded worried.

“Yes?” He hoped he hadn't pushed things too far.

“Did you...well, when you did all that for my birthday, were you _tryin’_ to be romantic?”

“I can't be sure since so much has happened since then,” he began. “But I think if I honestly examine my motives, I was trying to be kind?”

“Which is exactly what I needed. And you saw it--oh Ross!” she said and he was afraid for a moment that she was tearing up. “That’s just it though--isn’t it?” she said and swallowed hard.

“What?” he asked softly, both amused and curious to hear more of what she was thinking.

“Romance--real, sincere romance is about bein’ kind to the one you lov…” She paused to rephrase but he'd caught it. _The one you love._

“Bein’ kind to your partner,” she went on. “And so much of what we associate with romance is just the empty gestures, devoid of that care and kindness. An arsehole can give his woman a fancy box of chocolates after ignorin’ her for weeks. It might be romantic but it means nothin’. It isn't as important as if you gave me the last bite of your Mars bar while we are out for a hike and I was starvin’...”

“We’re hiking now? Good god, I’d love that,” he said.

“Or a night out at an exquisite restaurant means less than an impromptu take away when you know your partner is knackered after a long day’s work or even a shite meal shared at a corner dive if you’re just glad to be together. That's why romance has a bad name--it’s just too easy to co opt and...fake. But you can’t fake kindness, can you?”

“No, I don’t think you can. My, that’s quite a master class in human relationships, Demelza,” he laughed. 

_And there is nothing fake about you, is there?_

“Well, what do I know? I don’t actually have a stellar track record with _human relationships_ , if you must know,” she shrugged, then once again checked her gratitude. “But oh, Ross! I really did love the chocolates--I don't want you to think that I didn’t...just now when I said...that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. All the same, maybe tonight you want to skirt the issue of romance altogether and pick out another film that’s scary. If it pleases you?” he added. 

“Agreed. And...I think...black and white would be okay,” she said conciliatorily.

“I know just the thing. _Cape Fear_ ,” he said, although he’d really watch anything with her--he was just glad to be together.

“Is that...De Niro?” she asked.

“No, the original--1962, loads of suspense, no gore. Robert Mitchum, Gregory Peck.”

“Oh I love Gregory Peck--what’s that other one? With her…” Her animated hands waved around seeking for the words and names that eluded her. 

“Roman Holiday.”

“Yes! _Roman Holiday_! It’s my favourite... ”

“We could certainly watch that,” he smiled.

“Could we?” she asked eagerly.

“An excellent choice, Demelza.” 

_Of course you don’t like romantic comedies._

He didn’t dare say it. But under his mask he was laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a quote from the 1953 film, _Roman Holiday_. (Joe Bradley: You should always wear my clothes. Princess Anne: It seems I do.) Screenplay by Dalton Trumbo, Ian McLellan Hunter & John Dighton.
> 
> Listen to Abba’s “Voulez Vous” here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=za05HBtGsgU
> 
> Songwriters: Benny Goran Bror Andersson / Bjoern K. Ulvaeus. Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
> 
> I know, I know those are unpopular opinions on some of the most beloved romantic comedies out there. Please forgive this writer in the name of fiction (but please don’t talk to me about _Love Actually_ ).


	23. The Wait

“Will you hold my mobile, Ross? I’m thinkin’ of havin’ a shower and I don't want to miss a single message.”

“How long are you planning on being in there?” Ross laughed.

“Not long--did you know that women spend eight minutes on average in the shower, while men spend just seven? I read that. But I’ll be out in less than four today.” 

“You can’t be unreachable for four minutes?”

“I just want to know the second I get my results,” she explained. “ _If_ they come today, which they should since it’s been three full days…”

“So you want me to not just hold it, but monitor your mobile--to read your texts?” he clarified.

“Yes. I trust you, Ross. And besides havin’ to wait even two minutes in unacceptable. I was goin’ to have a bath but I feel like ants are eatin’ me…” She shivered for emphasis.

“All the more reason to have a bath,” he chuckled softly. “I understand--I’m anxious too--but staring at the screen all day isn’t going to help you pass the time, darling,” He kept his voice gentle and managed to hide his own agitation. “Demelza, have a long relaxing soak in the tub--for hours if you’d like. There really aren’t that many things in the flat that can offer you physical satisfaction or privacy, so take advantage of what you can. And I swear I’ll burst in on you should a text come in on your mobile.”

“Or if you get _your_ results, Ross. Promise?” she asked but seemed encouraged by his reassurance. 

He nodded and took her mobile from her outstretched hand.

“Did you know that only 23% of adults in this country prefer baths to showers?“ she said before she stepped into the bathroom.

“You made that up.”

“I may have. I can’t be sure--but it sounds convincin’,” she winked, then pulled the door shut behind her.

\-----

Ross went back to the pile of papers spread across the kitchen table and opened his dreaded laptop. As Zacky Martin, his business partner, had accurately predicted weeks ago, there were some business decisions they no longer had to consider since they’d been made for them. Three prospective clients had recently withdrawn their interest in working with Grace Energy, so agonising about those price structure agreements would no longer be necessary. 

Ross could hardly blame them. Who had any faith in the future right now? He certainly wouldn’t be making investments of any magnitude if he were in their shoes. Still, the overall numbers weren't as dire as he’d predicted. The contracts they had in hand remained firm and executing those jobs would take them well into the next quarter and perhaps even beyond that. What the hell did lay beyond that?

Ross shook his head. It wouldn’t do to fret about what waited ahead. He’d need to take one day at a time. One excruciatingly long day at a time. 

Demelza was right. The anxious waiting for their results was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the sweet delights that were waiting for them should they both get the all clear, but the relief that came from knowing all of those weeks of precaution paid off. The certainty that they’d done something right, that they were safe--for the time being anyway--and that the rules and guidelines were really something to trust, to believe in after all. 

And if they came back positive for even just one of them? He could imagine how terrified he’d be if she hadn't in fact shaken it. This blasted plague was still not fully understood, and the worry that she could still face further suffering in the weeks or months to come would be unbearable. Would another flare up be possible? What about other long term effects that perhaps just hadn’t yet materialised? 

And if Ross were positive? It would mean all their safety measures had been for naught, that all it took was one small lapse. But when? There had been so few times they were closer than two meters unmasked and none had lasted long. They were mere moments, really, except for that one night at the peak of her sickness, when he’d pulled her dazed and limp from the bath. Since then, he’d run through that scene hundreds of times in his brain. He should have worn a mask but he couldn't have left her there. He had no choice then and no regrets now.

Over the past three days, they’d somewhat relaxed their protocols inside the flat, but if one of them was positive, they’d need to return to more clearly delineated territory once again. And even then their faith in what was right, what would work, what was necessary would be forever marred.

Ross hated to go backwards and he certainly did not want to be ill, but the most pressing reason he didn’t want his own result to be positive, was for Demelza. It would destroy her to know she’d passed it on.

He too stared at his mobile, waiting. It had been three full days since their fateful journey to the park for testing, but he suspected that the window they’d been given of when to expect results was just an estimate. Why give them false hope? Why tell him three days if it could be four or seven?

Just then Demelza’s mobile dinged and he nearly jumped out of his seat. She’d apparently switched the ringer to its loudest setting.

“Ross?” she called at once from the bath. He could hear her urgent splashing as though she was already trying to stand up.

“No, relax my dear. It was only your friend Morwenna,” he said, walking to the bathroom door.

“Morwenna? Really?” Demelza settled back into the bath with a gentle slosh. He wondered how low she slunk her body in the steaming water. Was only her long neck exposed? And her legs--where did they go? Were her knees bent or had she stretched her long legs out, pressing them against the far wall?

“What does she want?” she asked. “Is she ok?”

“Do you want me to read the message aloud in its entirety?” he replied.

“Yes, please.”

“”Girl! You’re back on IG! Loved it. I’m well. You doing better? Tell me all!’...Then there are six hearts in a row,” he dutifully reported.

“Oh thank god she’s well,” Demelza sighed. ”I wonder which Instagram post she liked?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Ross said.

“Will you check for me?” she asked. She was serious. There was something sheepish but also young and girlish in her voice--a strand Ross hadn't heard in weeks. The request was ridiculous--surely she wasn’t so addicted to social media that she couldn't wait ten minutes and see for herself--yet he felt moved to oblige her request and once again snoop around on her mobile.

_At least this is an honest relationship_ , he thought to himself. 

When things had ended disastrously with Elizabeth years ago, the fatal blow to their short-lived engagement had been delivered in the form of secret texts. Or rather they were meant to be secret--until they weren’t.

_‘I miss you already,_ ’ Elizabeth’s text had read. Ross had only gone to the bathroom and found it odd that she’d suddenly become so affectionate, so expressive--and that she’d texted him while he was still in her flat. He’d laid his mobile on the bedside table then slipped back in next to her, planting a kiss on her ear. “I missed you too,” he said. Then he felt her whole body stiffen.

“Oh god,” Elizabeth had gasped and sat up, unable to hide the mortified look on her face.

“What is it?” he’d laughed but had the instinct to know something terrible was about to happen. He rolled over and looked at his lit up mobile screen again. She’d apparently sent a rapid follow up to the first text without waiting for a response.

‘ _Ross leaves at 7AM tomorrow. I’ll ring you when he’s gone. Cant wait to hear your voice. XOXO_ ’

He remembered that he’d kept his cool. He also remembered that it had been raining terribly that night and the thought of dressing and going out in the storm at such a late hour was so unappealing that for just a flicker of a moment, he’d actually considered ignoring the whole situation.

“I don’t require any explanations, Elizabeth,” he’d managed to say. “All I do ask is that you tell me, truthfully, who these messages were meant for.” His voice had been even and controlled, but most likely she knew what torrent might break through any moment.

Less than twenty minutes later, as he slumped in the back of a taxi that sped him home to his own lonely flat--and to a new chapter in his life--Elizabeth’s voice echoed in his muddled brain.

“They were meant for Francis. Francis Poldark--your cousin.”

Ross shook his head with a quick jerk as if to shed the residue from such unpleasant memories. It had been a hard blow at the time but in the years since he came to see he was quite fortunate that the relationship ended when it did. 

“Ross?” Demelza’s voice called from the bathroom. He loved the way she sang his name, giving it light and life.

“Just a moment…” he answered.

He entered her passcode again, laughing that she hadn’t changed it, and opened her Instagram. What was it she had claimed when he first met her?

_“I'm rubbish at all my social media...”_ He somehow doubted it.

While her Instagram posts did seem staged--as she’d warned him they would be--they were deliberately so, as though she was playing with the genre, almost mocking it. The photos were all carefully framed and filtered, almost exclusively black and white. He started to swipe then felt a deep chuckle rise from his belly.

Her recent photos seemed to mostly feature...feet. No selfies, no faces at all, just feet. 

In the first, a steaming cup of coffee set on the floor was shot from above, and on either side of it were two feet clad in his nubby ski socks, with just a peek of bare leg visible above the ankles. That post was captioned “favourite cafe.” In the next one her feet, this time bare but recognisable to Ross all the same, were propped up against the kitchen window with just a hint of the city and the surrounding highrise flats visible through the misty pane. She’d tagged that #Urban retreat. In the next, those same lovely feet were covered with some sort of cream, moisturiser or perhaps even the facial masque Caroline had sent over. It was artfully shot. So much white--feet slathered in goop standing on a gleaming tile floor, yet she still managed to capture shadows, contrast, and depth. #Spa day.

“Oh you little devil,” he laughed aloud at the next one tagged both #best flatmate and #furry friends.

These bare feet were bigger than hers and far hairier. They hung over the side of a leather sofa, with just an inch of flannel pajama bottoms visible in the shot. Ross must have been asleep when she snuck that one. He didn’t feel violated or that he was the butt of some joke. Instead he thought it somehow came across as lovingly executed.

And that was her in a nutshell. She didn’t take herself so seriously and moved playfully through life, yet she reserved the deepest reverence for the things that really mattered. He felt honoured that she’d let him into her private-most world.

“I think Morwenna liked them all, Demelza,” he called but suspected it was the presence of a man in Demelza’s life that had intrigued her enough to text. 

He wondered what Demelza was like with her mates. Generous and caring no doubt, but also spirited. And loyal. The one you’d call on when you were lowest but maybe also the one you rang first when you had good news.

And either way you felt she genuinely shared the joy--or the pain--with you.

The loud buzz of something vibrating on the kitchen table startled him and he almost dropped Demelza’s mobile.

“Ross? That’s yours, isn’t it?” She rightfully identified his mobile.

“So it is…” he said knowing she'd want him to check it straightaway. He slipped hers into his pocket and stepped back into the kitchen. 

When he saw the notification he felt the floor drop out from under him. Somehow he managed to stumble into a chair to read the entire text.

“Oh...Good god!” he groaned and closed his eyes, throwing his head back as the weighty discomfort that had been stored in him for weeks fought to escape his lungs. 

“Ross?” Demelza’s thin voice called. He could hear her feet squeak on the tile--she’d gotten out of the bath and as he expected, a second later with only a towel half heartedly wrapped around her dripping torso, she flung open the door.

“Ross?!” she said again, trying to read his distorted face.

“Demelza,” he croaked and tried to look at her but his eyes wouldn’t focus after having been squeezed shut so tightly. “My results...they're negative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you end up researching the darnedest things while writing. Shower stats courtesy of https://www.mirashowers.co.uk/blog/trends/revealed-what-brits-are-really-getting-up-to-in-the-bathroom-1/


	24. Daydream

“Demelza?” Ross called from the kitchen. He’d heard what sounded like footsteps in the hallway, but they’d stopped and the flat grew still again. He hoped he hadn’t woken her. She’d been napping and deserved every moment of peace she could find.

Ross hadn’t intended to take over the entirety of the table with his Grace Energy work but the kitchen was the only place that he could be somewhat productive lately. Since Demelza had relinquished the bedroom to him in their most recent room swap, he’d discovered he had a difficult time getting things done while sitting in bed. Originally she’d sworn they’d take the sofa in turns, but he should have known she wouldn’t follow through. She seemed stubbornly planted in the living room and would not hear of Ross giving up his bed.

Ross could have pushed it but he sensed this was important for her and wanted her to feel as though she still had some control over some decisions in her life. Perhaps when she was functionally homeless, choosing where she slept was no small matter.

Now he doubted whether that had been a wise decision. It was one thing when he thought the current arrangement would only be in play for a mere three days--until they both got their test results--but after he received his good news, the anxious days had dragged on. 

It was now day six. And there was still no word on Demelza’s status.

Each day that followed had unfolded at its own odd pace--and with new, unfamiliar energy. And each morning Ross had found himself in the company of a different, unpredictable Demelza. In response to the endless waiting, she’d cycled through a myriad of emotions, and while he wanted more than anything to support her, he struggled to keep up. 

The first evening, in the hours after Ross’s notification came in, the agitation she’d felt all day was amped up even more, and she remained obsessively glued to her mobile. Surely hers would follow any minute. She hardly ate a morsel at dinner and the tension that had filled the flat earlier returned, quickly deflating any relief Ross’s results had temporarily brought them. When she finally gave up to go to bed, she asked him to hold her mobile--she felt she wouldn't be able to resist checking it over and over throughout the night. 

The next day when still nothing came for her, she was paralysed with disappointment mixed with disbelief. She walked aimlessly about making cups of tea and abandoning them, starting sentences that she never finished, switching on songs then shutting them off abruptly. When Ross suggested they watch a film, she politely declined then stared at the wall with an open but unread book on her lap until finally she drifted off. Ross tiptoed in around ten and switched off the light for her, hoping desperately that she could sleep through the night.

She had, and the next day she displayed a frantic energy. She dove into an angry clean that took hours and Ross was shooed from one room to the next so she could scour the floors with notable ferocity. He knew that feeling--it was how he had attempted to fill the anxious void when he’d been waiting for her days before. Now he offered to help, but she seemed to prefer to work alone. Perhaps she got lost in her own thoughts--or even successfully managed to block out thoughts altogether--when she was in her "zone.”

Finally on the morning of the sixth day, she'd rung Dwight to see what he could tell them. Ross and Demelza both hoped Dwight might have access to some centralised database and he could just relay her results over the phone, but apparently ‘centralised’ and ‘coordinated’ weren't really words one could use to describe the official response these days. After Demelza rang off with him, she’d emerged from the living room and leaned against the wall, her body crumpling in despair. Tears escaped her eyes but as they rolled down her cheeks were quickly hidden under her mask.

“Dwight said it could take as long as fourteen days,” she’d finally managed to say. 

“Fourteen?” Ross tried to disguise the anguish he felt and was certain his dark eyes would give him away. But she’d abruptly turned away so he wouldn’t see her screwed-up face or that she was crying.

“That can’t be. Otherwise why did mine come just when expected?” he asked hoping he could comfort her by drawing her into conversation. It was all he could offer and it wasn’t enough.

“I asked that too. Apparently they use a different lab for Station E, and that one is backed up. It’s as simple as that.” She was valiantly trying to hide the wobble and despair in her words. “I’m goin' to go take a nap,” she said. 

Ross could hear the life evapourating from her voice and was worried. This was no longer about wanting more shared space in the flat or his growing appetites going unmet. Now he was concerned for Demelza’s well-being. Endless days of uncertainty would be hard on her, especially if she had nothing to keep her busy. He recalled the dark days early in the lockdown and hated to see her spirits sinking again.

That afternoon she’d slept for hours. It wasn’t a good sign.

 _As soon as I update this spreadsheet and finish these emails I’ll go check on her,_ he thought. _If she naps too much longer she’ll never sleep tonight._

Who was he kidding? He’d been having a difficult time concentrating all day too, and no doubt had missed countless mistakes. He really needed a second set of eyes to assist him. His laptop was still open before him but it hadn’t been spreadsheets he was perusing for the last ten minutes. He was hoping to find something that just might make her happy.

“Ross?” Demelza was suddenly standing in the hallway in between the kitchen and bathroom. He hadn’t heard her coming. Her voice sounded hoarse, like it hadn’t been used in some time. “Did you call me?”

“I did, but that was some time ago. I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said gently and turned to look at her. Her eyes remained sleepy and her hair was a bit of mess, coming out of her ponytail in several places. But she looked lovely and he longed to wrap his arms around her and lose himself in her softness. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Did you need somethin’?” she asked, politely ignoring his question. It was clear she was not feeling better.

“I do. Tell me, which of these do you prefer?” He stretched his long arms out and handed the laptop over to her. She knit her brow in confusion then squinted at the screen.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I think we need new bedding and I’d like you to pick it all out.” 

“What’s wrong with your old sheets? I’m rather fond of them,” she said.

“Nothing. Just it’s spring and isn’t one supposed to freshen up for the change of seasons?” He tried to remain upbeat but realised this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d imagined. He should have known better--she was not easily bribed. 

“These are awfully expensive,” she said, scrolling down the page. At least she hadn’t tossed the laptop back to him in total disgust.

“I happen to like a high thread count,” he said. “And I think you do too…”

“They're all nice except the yellow ones,” she said. “They disturb me for some reason.”

“ _Disturb_ you? Okay, no yellow,” he laughed.

“These cherry blossoms are pretty,” she reluctantly admitted.

“I thought so too,” he said.

“That bit of colour would work well with our white walls,” she said. “The red could also match the duvet we already have--stripes and floral look good together.”

He sighed. Just two little words-- _our, we_ \--but it was enough. She hadn’t given up on their future yet.

\----

“Pick a hand,” Ross said. He was leaning against the door jamb just outside the living room, both his hands hidden behind his back.

Demelza sat up from the sofa and put her book aside. She cocked her head to take in the music that Ross had put on and her eyes smiled with apparent approval. He’d deliberately chosen the song knowing she thought Bryan Ferry’s voice was sexy.

“ _Fallen leaves in the night, who can say where they're blowing_ …”

“Is this…?” she started.

“Roxy Music. Don’t change the subject. Come on, pick a hand.”

“What are you up to now, Ross?" she asked skeptically, but he could detect she was laughing a little.

“Just do as you are ordered, Miss Carne,” he said. “Pick a hand.”

“Right,” she said. “No, I meant the other one--my right, your left.”

He brought his left arm around and revealed he was holding a small bottle of nail polish. “Daydream,” he said as he read the label. “Excellent choice.”

“I wouldn’t have thought pink was your colour, Ross,” she said.

“It’s not for me--and I’ve learned pink looks quite good on you,” he observed. 

“Oh? You think so?” she laughed, almost coyly. He saw she was trying--he’d have to be very patient. “So what was the other choice?” she asked.

“Melody?” He held up the other bottle.

“I never really cared for blue nails,” she said. “Reminds me of bodies in a morgue.”

“Spend much time in morgues then?” he teased. “These are from Caroline, right?”

“They are. There’s a third somewhere, maybe I left it in the bedroom? Not sure what I was savin’ them for--it’s not like there will be some big do in our future. But really such a nice gift, and an expensive one too, from a stranger. This Chanel stuff costs about £20, you know. Each.” She appeared amused at his shocked expression.

“It looks like you can’t escape people wanting to spoil you today, Demelza,” he said. “Stranger or...otherwise.”

“Yes, so it seems I’m not to be rid of you, am I, Ross?” she said softly, her eyes fixed on his.

“No, my love, you are not,” he said. “Come on--if you insist on showing off your exquisite feet each day to strangers on Twitter…”

“Instagram,” she corrected. He was playing with her on purpose and she seemed to know it.

“At least give me the honour of helping. Come, take off those woolly socks…” he ordered.

“If you like,” she said. She hastily removed the offending socks and gave her feet a quick examination. “What if they smell…” she began to laugh and drew them back under her but he moved quickly towards her on the sofa, hands outstretched. Obediently she unfurled her legs and allowed him to take her bare feet in his hands.

He perched at the opposite end of the sofa while his strong fingers began with a slow rub--like he’d first done a few nights before--and after only a few seconds, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

“Mmm, Ross,” Demelza purred. “Thank you."

 _“More than this, you know there is nothing,"_ Bryan Ferry sang. Ross agreed.

“Thank _you,_ ” he said in almost a whisper, so thrilled to once again be touching her, any part of her. “Okay, let’s start with this one,” he said and cradled her left foot in his right hand, while trying to unscrew the bottle with his left. 

“Ross, love,” she said gently. “Do know what you’re...I mean, have you done this before?” she asked.

“No, but I’ve done similar tasks that require precision and care…”

“Oh?" she asked. “Such as?”

“I’ve varnished a boat and soldered a circuit board and, if you must know, Demelza, _shaving_ is no small affair.”

“No, it is not but you haven’t done that in weeks.”

“I thought you approved of the beard?”

“I do. And I’ll assume you are not comparin' my big feet to boats?”

“Never.”

“Okay then, I trust you, Ross,” she declared but her laughing eyes suggested she was merely humouring him. “Still, I’d hate to ruin the leather on your sofa--I know you’ll be careful but just in case there’s a drip, why don’t you get a tissue handy? There’s some in my bag by your feet,” she said.

“Wise plan. I like the way you work,” he said. _Work_. He was suddenly hit with a flash of inspiration. “Demelza? I was wondering if you’d have any interest in helping me with some...” he began but found himself completely derailed as his fingers settled upon something rather silky in her bag. He lifted it slightly to examine--a black bra with soft stretchy lace--then dropped the alluring garment in a panic, but not before noticing there were matching knickers in there as well.

“Ross?” she asked, leaning forward just a little. “Help you with what?”

He felt the wind had been knocked from him. So this was what she’d secreted away from the mysterious parcel addressed to her. He was aroused at the mere thought of such things on her glorious body but he was moved--so very moved in fact--that she’d thought of him, of them, to plan in advance this way. He wanted to turn to her to thank her, to profess his feelings, but caught himself just in time. She’d meant it to be a surprise and he just couldn’t take that from her now. Even if the reveal was indefinitely delayed.

“Hmm? Oh yes,” he recovered as best he could but still felt short of breath. “Some Grace Energy paperwork…” He’d managed to find the packet of tissues and now held it aloft as though it was the greatest of trophies.

“Paperwork?”

“Not paper. All on screens, of course. Just being a second set of eyes, to review some data on spreadsheets…”

“Oh Ross, I'd love to! I mean, I think I can do it, if you show me what to look for. I worked part-time for a bookkeeper a few years ago and I did really well in statistics this last term, so I’m not a total idiot when it comes to figures,” she said.

“Of course you are not,” he said. His heart soared. He was so happy to see her bright and excited again. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? His imagination raced ahead of him. What if--when this was all over--she gave up cleaning and went to work for him at Grace instead? But then again, why wait? Why not start now so he’d get the assistance he really did need--and he could funnel some cash her way too.

“Ross? Are you ready to share the _Daydream?_ ” she asked.

“What?” he sputtered then calmed himself when he realised she was not in fact reading his mind but referring to the pretty pink nail varnish. “Yes, of course...your pedicure, madam.”

“Now, Ross, the trick is not to overload the brush. It’s quite tiny you see…” she began then giggled. “And try not to tickle the client.”

“Never.” He lowered his mask just a few inches then raised her foot to his lips. He kissed her gently, slowly, pouring all his love out in the only way he could. Of course he would have enjoyed moving his kiss up her leg, his hands to follow, but he found, surprisingly, that he had the discipline to focus on what was in front of him and did not feel cheated in any way. Her lovely foot was a part of her and if that was all he was allowed at that moment then he would cherish it. 

He heard a gasp escape her mouth followed by a sigh.

“Oh Ross,” she said softly.

Then, devilishly, he drew one finger along her bare arch, knowing that she’d respond with uncontrollable laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, again, again-- thanks to Debbie Horsfield’s wonderful Poldark (TV) series dialogue snippets (“So you are not to be rid of me, my love...”) which I plunked down in the middle of this modern AU-- but with oh so much reverence and gratitude.
> 
> “More Than This” from the 1982 Roxy Music album _Avalon_ (their last before Ferry went solo). Listen to/watch this sexy gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOnde5c7OG8 Songwriter: Bryan Ferry. Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
> 
> But seriously, Mr. Ferry, the leather jacket and bowtie are just so innocently edgy. Oh 1982, 2020 sees you...and we’ll take what you have on offer!


	25. The Challenge

Ross rolled over for the fifth time that night but no matter how he positioned himself, he couldn’t seem to find any comfort in the empty bed. At least Demelza seemed to be having an easier night than he was. Earlier, when he’d gotten up to use the toilet, he’d peeked into the living room--the rhythmic rasps coming from her gaping mouth suggested she’d found a deep sleep. Now alone and back in his bed, he wished that she was next to him and it was actually her endearing snore that was keeping him awake instead of his own thoughts racing in circles.

_Soon._

That’s what he kept telling himself but how could he know? How could he know anything anymore?

This had been the eighth day that had passed with no word on Demelza’s test results. The waiting, the longing, and the uncertainty were unbearable. And yet what choice did they have but to bear it? 

The days wore on, and for the past few nights, Ross had found himself unable to sleep--or rather unable to stay asleep. He woke around two each morning overwhelmed with a new sense of helplessness, a feeling he wasn’t very familiar with--at least not in his adult life.

During the day he’d tried to reassure Demelza but found he couldn't. He just didn't have the words--not honest ones anyway. In the past he could always rely on data, on experience, on statistics and likelihood, to assuage fears. One was more likely to die in an auto accident than in a plane crash. One was more likely to get six balls in the national lottery than be struck by lightning. He recalled Dwight once telling him years ago that he was more likely to die from choking on a piece of steak than from contracting the Ebola virus.

But now...now the world was upside down, Ross didn’t know what to believe, and he had few reliable facts on which to hang his word.

He wanted more than anything to tell her everything was most likely okay, that the delay meant nothing, that odds were strong her results would be negative. But he wouldn’t lie. And if there was nothing he could say to soothe her agitation, he wished he could at least hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her eyelids. Use touch to reach her in a way words could not.

He exhaled again slowly trying to discern whether the pressure in his chest was heartburn or the beginnings of a panic attack.

_Come on, you fool. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear_ … Then he laughed remembering how when he’d walked Demelza through the exercise so many weeks ago she’s also named what she could smell. That had been before she’d lost that sense but thank god it had returned. That was a good sign--wasn’t it?

Surely she had to be clear. She just had to. But nothing seemed real, or sure, or knowable anymore.

\---

“Ross, I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ but you look knackered,” Demelza observed the next morning. “Did you not sleep again?”

“I’ll be fine. I must be missing the sofa,” he tried to tease. He’d taken his mask off to drink his coffee--he needed three mugfuls that morning--so she saw the weak smile he flashed from across the room.

“Nice try but you’re not gettin’ it back,” she laughed. “How do you want your eggs today?”

“I was reading that the physical manifestations of stress are really taking a toll on otherwise healthy people,” he said. “I suppose I could have it far worse than insomnia--eczema, hair loss, stomach problems…” He ran his hands through his dark curls as if to remind himself that he still had a full head of hair.

“Ross?” she asked again. “Your eggs? Oh, unless...you’re not havin’ stomach problems, are you?”

“No!” he said quickly. “I mean, I’m fine, really. I told you not to worry--stop fussing…” 

“Well…” she said simply and turned away.

He regretted that his words had come out bitterly. He knew she felt better when she had something to distract her or someone to care for. He could hardly fault her--he was the same way. 

After a minute of stony silence she turned back, and even with her masked face, shot him a look that was clear: _Don’t ever talk to me like that again_.

“Demelza...” he began and knew any apology would hardly be enough. He’d have to try something different. “Thank you,” he said with a gentle sincerity. “Perhaps fried..on toast?” he added sheepishly.

“You are lucky, Poldark, because that is precisely what I had in mind to do…” she said and he knew the cloud had passed. “You sounded like me, Ross, quotin’ the experts that you read.”

“It seems you’ve been a good influence on me,” he said. 

He didn’t tell her the other things he’d read at three that morning when he’d given up on sleeping. Articles on safe sex practices in these _unusual_ times. He supposed he was looking for a loophole but hadn’t found one. 

The problem was he and Demelza didn't really fit into any of the relationship categories described. They weren't exactly single and not exactly living with each other. They had been isolating only with each other so that in itself boded well, but her uncertain status was of course the deciding blow. 

“You are your safest sex partner,” he’d read over and over. Perhaps, but that was a lonely pursuit. 

Another author suggested that “staying masked, avoiding kissing, and carefully selecting positions to minimise exposure from heavy breathing _might_ be okay with certain trusted and screened partners outside your household.” But merely joining bodies wasn’t what Ross wanted at all. He wanted the endless kisses, the eye contact, the exchange of breath that marked closeness. The joining of hearts.

Over and over again he came across exaltations for sexting as the best route for couples who couldn’t safely make love in person. Hadn’t that been what Demelza suggested weeks ago? He’d rejected it as a viable option then but maybe it was time to rethink things. But would it bring connection--or further frustration?

\----

“ _If you don’t know how to initiate or what to say to get you and your partner off, try dropping your voice just a bit, or using an app you save only for sexting. Listen and respond to what they say rather than planning your every move,”_ Ross reviewed the advice he’d read.

Bollocks. Wasn’t it better to be open and straightforward?

He waited until he was sure she was settled in the living room after lunch and made his move.

“ _Send me pics_ ,” he texted. Then added, “ _Naked_.” He’d expected her to call out in hysterical laughter and not take him seriously, but instead within a few minutes his mobile dinged to notify him she was heeding his request.

He opened the picture with eager and clumsy fingers, then shook his head. He’d been right--of course she wasn’t taking this seriously. She’d sent a photo of her naked foot.

“ _Your turn_ ,” she’d texted back.

_Game on._ Then he remembered what he’d read. _I’ll need to let her know I’m in ‘a sexy mindset’...something different._

Ross thought for a moment then lifted his shirt. He winced then sent a photo of his bare torso. This time she did call out.

“Ross!” she laughed and emerged in the hallway to talk to him. “I believe the expression is ‘d _ayum’!_ One might get the impression you know what you’re doin’?”

“I made you smile,” he said.

“Oh? How would you know?” she quipped and pointed to her mask.

“Demelza, I know when you're smiling.”

“So you do, Ross. And now I’m laughin’ in case you can’t tell,” she said after she looked down at her screen and saw the emojis he’d sent as a follow up.

“That was my plan,” he said.

“Do you even know what those mean, Ross?”

“That I want babaganoush tonight?”

“Oh really? That explains the aubergines but the peach?” She was tapping her foot but also fighting hard to keep her giggles under control.

“Look, Demelza, I know these days--this waiting--has been excruciating for you. I know you are worried and scared--so am I.”

“Ross…”

“Maybe this is a way to be together…”

“Ross...don’t do this just for me. It has to be willin’ and wanted on both sides--and I know your heart isn’t quite into this.”

“This isn’t about my heart but about giving you something else you are wanting…”

“Oh Ross,” she repeated. “You can’t escape your heart--when will you learn that? But maybe...I think I have a compromise...”

“Yes?”

“Well…” she scrolled around on her mobile for a moment then looked up. “Here…”

Ross looked at the link she’d shared and smiled at the title: “ _The Nude Selfie Is Now High Art._ ”

“I thought it was really interestin’--I’d never thought about it before,” Demelza explained while Ross quickly scanned the essay. “I liked the idea that such photos can be a ‘symbols of resilience’...isn’t that what she called them? And I think, Ross...this might be more of what you’re seekin’? A way to seduce, to connect...to escape reality but maybe also to _shape_ it?”

He found he was speechless.

“Well, maybe it’s nothin’, it just moved me anyway,” she shrugged. 

“Tell me more,” he said.

“Also...readin’ it made me grateful once again?”

“How so?” he asked softly and looked up at her. _We should be grateful_. It was a familiar refrain and a reminder from her that he always welcomed.

“We’ve both said it before, Ross, loads of times--we’re lucky. Sure we are limited in where we can be--and we can’t touch and I _hate_ that--but we still have each other for support and comfort and we _like_ each other. And this is so bad for some many others and in different ways. Married couples who sure, can sleep together but maybe don’t really get on so well anymore and this is how they find out? The old or infirm who are all alone, with little or no contact from neighbours and family, or even their care workers? But then I was also thinkin’--after readin’ this--imagine bein’ young and single and free?”

“Do you envy them? I mean is that something you desire?” he asked, mildly confused but trusting she’d explain her thought process. She always did.

“Oh no! How devastatin’ for _them_ too. How painful this whole lockdown would be if you were truly on your own like that? I mean the best part about bein’ single is when it is your choice. So when your options are suddenly taken from you? And you have no choices? No control?”

“Yes…”

“Then that desire to connect that was there in the best of times--maybe it niggled at the back of your mind but you decided when and how to act on it--now it’s just eatin’ at you from the inside. And you have no way out? I think it would feel a lot like bein’ buried alive, just waitin’ for your air to run out...unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you rewrote the rules.”

“Demelza, you have an amazing knack for reframing things,” he said in admiration.

“I wouldn’t say that.” She waved him away.

“With your wise perspective…”

“I don’t know about wise…”

“And generous heart.”

“Now you’re just tryin’ to flatter me,” she said but he knew she appreciated his words and had taken the compliments seriously. “So Ross I have an idea…”

“I’m sure you do.”

\---

“You ready?” Demelza called from the bedroom. She was hardly being impatient. For the better part of the afternoon, she’d insisted they take their time and really think this through. Only after they’d cleared up after a late dinner, did she finally grant permission to embark on this shared challenge.

“Not nearly,” Ross replied. “It's more difficult than I thought it would be.” He was almost panicked. Apparently she was eager to reveal her finished product when he hadn’t even settled on his subject.

“Don’t overthink it, Ross. I’m not lookin’ for clever. Just be sincere.”

“That’s not helping, Demelza,” he grumbled. The charge to be light and not overly intellectual--and now also sincere--added another layer of complexity to this already challenging endeavour. He would have considered it a silly game and dismissed it outright, if it hadn’t been her proposal. And in these tortuous days of waiting, she needed to be indulged in any whim or fancy that kept her occupied. 

He’d just have to get on with it.

Her idea had been to take the Rijksmuseum’s challenge of recreating masterpieces of art using only objects found around the home, but to combine it with the nude self portraits they’d agreed to exchange.

“To share publicly?” Ross had sputtered in total dismay when first she’d suggested it.

“Heavens no!” she’d laughed. “They’ll be just for you and me. But it would be a way for us to work our way into nudes slowly since you have some…inhibitions.”

“Oh,” he’d said, appreciating her thoughtful approach and the fact that she acknowledged his reticence. What was behind his self-consciousness, really? He’d never considered himself shy before, maybe just guarded and private?

“That is, if you trust me not to leak nudes of the respectable businessman, Ross Poldark,” she’d winked. It had been nice to see her amused and having fun, even if it was at his expense.

Now Ross sat on the sofa in only his boxer briefs and desperately tried to plan his next move. One good thing that had come out of this was that she’d asked to use the bedroom as the backdrop of her portrait so they’d temporarily switched rooms again. Perhaps he could contrive a way to keep her there for the night.

“Demelza, how do I do this? I mean, to get in the frame…”

“There’s a timer,” she called from the hallway. “I had to really play around until I got the angle just right. I kept cuttin’ off my head. It might be easier with the iPad than your mobile. I’m finished in here so you can have it. Okay?” 

Without waiting for his reply she slid the iPad gently down the hall. He heard it hit the door jamb just outside the living room and he leapt to his feet just in time to see her duck into the kitchen. She’d put on his blue-green dressing gown again but oddly was wearing it with her trainers.

He went back to the sofa, away from the open doorway so he wouldn’t feel quite so exposed. Before he got back to the task at hand, he filled a small glass with the last of the whisky he had in the flat.

Tomorrow he’d have to tackle how to get more and also find some wine for Demelza. And they’d need food again soon too. Fresh veg would be nice. She’d been gracious about it but he sensed she was growing as tired of the endless fry-ups as he was.

_When this is over I might never eat another sausage again_ , he thought. 

He knew what he was doing. He was playing for time by worrying about tomorrow. But perhaps that was a good sign--he was looking forward again, something he’d been hesitant to do for the past few weeks. He wondered what that meant or if it meant anything at all.

Ross took a drink, then a deep breath, and lowered his pants.

His initial idea--”The Creation of Adam” from the Sistine Chapel ceiling--was admittedly not very original. But as he ran his hands over his beard it occurred to him that years had passed since he had the fresh-faced appearance of a young man. What if instead he chose the Roman sculpture of Arnos, the River God? Hadn’t that reclining pose been Michelangelo’s inspiration for Adam anyway? Ross looked up some images of the piece he had in mind and started to work out how to position himself. The sofa would work, he could even hold the glass in place of the god’s jar. He considered cheating and covering himself with a sheet but that would surely disappoint Demelza. 

Satisfied he’d finally got it right, he then realised he’d need to get up to start the timer on the iPad. He got to his feet then tried to rush back, but the flash went off before he’d properly posed again.

“Damn it!” he shouted in frustration. 

“Ross, I should warn you--choose ten seconds not three for the timer!” Demelza called from the kitchen.

“Now you tell me,” he tried to laugh. But instead of deleting his mis-timed effort, he gave it a closer examination. It might just work after all.

When Ross had scrambled back on the sofa before the photo was taken, he’d twisted his torso so his back was to the camera but his naked legs--and another significant area--remained in view. The composition reminded him of something…

“Ha!” he exhaled in triumph and immediately began to search for the painting he had in mind. 

It was almost fifteen years since his term abroad in Rome, but Ross remembered the day he’d seen this piece in person. It had been a gloomy November morning, he’d been hung over and more than ready for lunch, but found himself unable to pull himself away from Caravaggio’s brilliant light and the subject’s alluring look. His mates had gone on and Ross had stood in the gallery for what must have been half an hour longer, totally seduced. Finally an older woman with a single sexy streak of white running through her dark hair approached and took it upon herself to explain what the artist was doing in the supposedly religious-themed painting. 

“Yes, Caravaggio--always the lover and the fighter. And he was insistent that this _érotique_ youth was in fact John the Baptist...and somehow his word was accepted,” the stranger had said with a wicked laugh and dark eyes. “Or is it possible that in the name of desire, we allow ourselves to be convinced of anything?” 

At the time Ross had assumed the woman was Italian, but she spoke English with what sounded like a French accent. And looking back, he now realised she hadn’t been old at all, just comfortably occupying her middle years, loving art and teasing young men. In a flicker of chance memory, he thought he could recall her perfume. But his focus was called back to the present and to the photograph he was expected to deliver to Demelza shortly.

There were a few serendipitous details that worked in Ross’s favour. A cushion placed on the back of the sofa behind Ross was in roughly the same place as the ram in the original painting. And while he was certainly much older than Caravaggio’s boy, Ross had managed to capture some resemblance. His expression was spot on--caught in surprise but still retaining a trace of mischief, even flirtiness. And miraculously, the shot wasn’t blurred. 

For an accident it wasn’t bad at all. The only edit he made was to crop the right and left borders slightly to give it a more vertical orientation. He considered fiddling with the lighting but suspected he’d never match Caravaggio’s brilliant illumination and deep shadows so he chose to just leave it alone.

“Demelza,” he called as he pulled his briefs back on. “How do you want it? I mean what should I do…” His heart was thumping loudly in his chest and he realised he was nervous about what would happen next--what she would think.

“Text it to me,” she said. “That seems safe and private, right? And I think we are supposed to be alone, not together, when we see them--for maximum impact.” For someone who had never done this before she seemed rather familiar with the rules.

“Right,” he said softly and paused over the send button for another moment before he found his courage.

“You should take your room back,” Demelza said from the hallway. She had left the kitchen and had moved closer to the living room. He heard the gentle ping of his text arriving on her mobile and for just a moment, he allowed himself to hope it was her test results she’d received, not his nude photo.

“Not a chance, Demelza,” he said and watched his own screen for the text from her.

“As you wish, Ross,” she laughed. He heard her trainers squeak on the hallway floor then the gentle click of the bedroom door closing.

Ross sat down and wished he had another drink. This time to savour while he indulged in what he anticipated would be another enjoyable pursuit.

He found himself smiling slightly as he looked for her message, ignoring the dozens of unopened texts on his mobile awaiting his attention. But he hadn’t expected such a physical response when he actually opened it, like a blow to the solar plexus. He couldn’t breathe and it felt as if his heart had stopped.

Demelza had chosen Manet’s “Olympia”. Stretched out on the bed, she was taller than Manet’s woman so she’d had to pull back to get her whole body in the frame. She wore nothing except her shoes--in this case trainers, which added a whimsical twist--and around her neck instead of a ribbon, she’d tied one of her shoe laces. She’d parted her red hair on the side and pulled it back and produced the same impassive and direct stare of the figure in the original composition. There was no servant but she had managed to crumpled one of Ross’s tshirts into an approximation of a ‘cat’. She’d even arranged the folds and draping of the sheets under her in a rather convincing recreation. It was brilliant--and so beautiful.

Ross had imagined her bare body for weeks and on occasion, had even seen glimpses of it. Yet to be able to leisurely linger in his examination was an unexpected pleasure. He meant to take his time, to explore every inch of her skin. Her pale breasts, her well formed legs and the soft mound between them barely concealed by her hand. 

And while he certainly found her arousing, it was his heart that was swelling. He found he kept returning to her face, her eyes, her lips. He hadn’t seen her mouth unmasked in some time and the way she looked at the camera--at him--challenging, mysterious yes, but unlike the original she didn’t appear bored. Instead she was penetrating his mind and thoughts with her powerful gaze. An invitation, a promise, a prelude.

It was quite a gift.

“ _So unbelievably gorgeous!”_ she texted him. _“I adore your pic. You are a god among men! Thank you!_ ” Apparently his photograph was also well received.

He quickly responded. “ _Thank you, Demelza. So beautiful and such a treasure._ ” A stuffy word maybe but he didn’t know what else to call it, and it would be something he’d always cherish. He put his hand to his eye and tried to laugh as he wiped away a tear. Why was he so suddenly overwhelmed? 

“ _Can I see you_?” he texted again, then rang her. He wanted to hear her voice.

“Can I see you?” he repeated, his voice deep but soft.

“No. I think not tonight, Ross,” she said gently. It will be too painful, too hard to be near you at all if I can’t have you close the way I want. But maybe if I go to sleep now I can have you in my dreams. ”

“Okay.”

“Please don’t be angry?” she said.

“No, never,” he answered quickly. “I’m not angry, Demelza, I understand. I miss you already. Sleep well, my love.” 

“Thank you, Ross. Good night,” her voice was a sweet whisper. She rang off then sent one last text.

“❤❤❤”

Ross smiled and put down his mobile. As usual she was right. It would require untold restraint to maintain the distance between them tonight after such a charged exchange. Exhausted, spent, he settled on the sofa and closed his eyes. Still he doubted he’d be able to sleep.

But he also felt strangely satisfied. Demelza might have gotten in the last word between them tonight but he’d had his way too--he’d managed to arrange things so he'd be the one sleeping on the sofa again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darling readers, in both precedent and unprecedented times, always practice safe sex. In case you’re in doubt of what is acceptable in these particular times, don’t take my word for it but google the latest. Here is one source I read: https://www.health.com/condition/infectious-diseases/coronavirus/sex-during-coronavirus-pandemic
> 
> We all knew about the manifestations of stress before we started reading articles about it. Sigh. Be well my friends (and drink lots of water): https://www.npr.org/local/305/2020/08/14/902520766/people-are-struggling-to-cope-with-the-physical-manifestations-of-their-c-o-v-i-d-stress?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_term=nprnews&utm_campaign=npr&utm_medium=social&fbclid=IwAR0SqjO7cQz87v-MsaVGlRjZrC8yDim0ob7P-Z9lpvbwCp4kUWsahRk5kMA
> 
> Here is the link to the NY Times opinion piece Demelza shared with Ross.  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/24/opinion/sunday/covid-nude-selfies.html?campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20200426&instance_id=17959&nl=morning-briefing®i_id=98062320&segment_id=26000&te=1&user_id=7b2036d0bf66bb543ae7b8bdc5a619f3
> 
> And here are the images they used for their “challenge” inspiration.  
> Manet’s “Olympia”, 1963  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olympia_(Manet)#/media/File:Edouard_Manet_-_Olympia_-_Google_Art_ProjectFXD.jpg
> 
> Caravaggio’s “Youth with a Ram (John the Baptist)”, 1602  
> https://www.caravaggio.org/youth-with-a-ram.jsp
> 
> Reclining River God (Arno)  
> http://www.museivaticani.va/content/museivaticani/en/collezioni/musei/museo-pio-clementino/Cortile-Ottagono/divinita-fluviale--arno-.html


	26. Love in the Time of Pestilence

“Ross? What’s that I smell?” Demelza was only just emerging from the bedroom but her sleepy voice drifted ahead of her through the hallway. 

“Hush, go back to bed and wait until you are summoned,” Ross ordered with only a quick glance up from the cooker.

She was wearing the blue green dressing gown again but where it gaped at her shoulder a thin black strap peeked out. And though she’d removed the shoelace from her neck, and was now barefoot, traces of _Olympia_ remained. Perhaps they always would. Ross smiled to himself when he saw her pretty pink toenails.

“What? Ross, are you...is that...?”

“Yes, bacon. There’s your coffee.” He pointed to the steaming mug waiting for her on the table then turned back to his urgent work. “Now stop pestering me, woman.”

“But where did we get...is that _back_ bacon?” she said clearly puzzled and then shuffled over to the fridge to check for herself since Ross was being so evasive.

“Oh Ross! When?” she cried when she saw it was newly replenished. In fact it was stuffed. She looked up at him then her eyes darted around the kitchen. A bowl of lemons stood on the work surface, along with a pile of greens, red bell peppers, and several bottles of wine. “How? You didn’t...?” she started. It wasn’t an accusation but an honest question.

“No, I went nowhere. We got our delivery this morning,” he explained. “The one we placed weeks ago.”

“What? But that’s incredible!” she said almost breathless with excitement. “Here, let me help put things away.”

“No need. I already took care of most of that. If you refuse to go back to bed you should at least take a seat.”

Still dumbfounded, she backed into a chair and took a sip of her coffee.

“Huh...Do you think this means we are back to an usual delivery schedule?” she asked.

“Well what exactly ‘usual’ means now is still up in the air. But perhaps it means the initial disruption to supply--and consumer panic--has been rectified. And it means I’m on breakfast duty this morning.” He smiled under his mask but hoped she’d hear it in his voice.

“Are those chives?” She craned her neck in an attempt to see what it was he was finely mincing on the cutting board. “Isn’t it early for a delivery?” she then asked.

“So many questions this morning, my love,” he said. With each exchange he grew more gentle in his tone. He’d learned to read her and if she wasn’t parrying back, then it wasn’t the right time to tease. He hoped today wasn’t to be another dark day. Yesterday’s self portrait project had buoyed her spirits, and Ross felt determined to keep that mood going in the flat, one kind gesture at a time. A most special breakfast was to be the first attempt. What happened after that, he hadn’t quite determined. “Look at the time--it’s after nine. You slept in,” he added softly.

“So I have. How strange--I usually pride myself on my internal alarm clock and never sleep late. But you’re right, Ross. What does ‘usual’ even mean now?” Her eyes still looked a bit dreamy but with every sip of coffee she sounded more lucid. “Must be that glorious bed,” she laughed then checked her thoughtlessness. “Oh Ross, I _am_ sorry you were on the sofa.” 

“I’m not,” he said.

“I suppose that had been your devious plan all along? How is your back? Tell me, did you sleep at all?”

He’d fallen asleep just fine but woke up after an hour--perhaps because he hadn’t bothered to switch off the light in the living room or clean his teeth. Once he attended those details he was able to settle back in and his rest wasn’t as troubled as on previous nights. Of course Demelza’s photo left him wanting more but it also had comforted him in an unexpected way. It was something to focus on once he closed his eyes and he found recalling the image calmed his usually restless thoughts. 

That night he’d dreamed he and Demelza were alone in a massive hall. Only after they’d turned a corner did he recognise it as the sculpture gallery at the Tate Museum. She was wearing the blue-green dressing gown and he only a floral bed sheet that he fought to keep wrapped around his body. She saw his struggle but did nothing to help. Every so often she’d deliberately step on the ends to help it unravel. Her laugh rang out, echoing in the empty gallery. Finally he grabbed her around her waist to stop her mischief. He looked into her eyes and then down to her shoes--which were far too large on her. She was wearing Ross’s trainers. His own feet were bare--but his toenails were painted bright red.

“What are you playing at?” He leaned in for a kiss, but felt his wrapping slipping from his body and pooling at his ankles until he was fully exposed. 

He’d woken after that, more amused than startled. Even in his dreams she kept him laughing.

“And you? I trust you slept well?” Ross asked as he carefully cracked an egg over the bowl in front of him. She’d padded over to the window and seemed mesmerised by the raindrops streaking down the pane. She held her cup against her chest and sighed.

He could see she was steeling herself, calling on her own inner reserves to face the day and keep her chin up. He so admired her strength and saw how he’d come to rely on it himself. 

_Where would I be without her?_

“I think that’s a gull callin’...are there any in this part of the city?” she asked “Or am I hearin’ things?”

“They’re everywhere. They follow humans--and our rubbish.”

“It’s our chips that they’re after,” she laughed. “I suppose they’re just like pigeons. Once noble, valued creatures, now considered filthy pests.”

“Demelza Carne, urban defender of the pigeons. Rats too?”

“No, not rats,” she shuddered but was still laughing. “I do have a fondness for gulls though, no matter where.”

“Close your eyes, Demelza, and imagine the sea,” he said.

“Mmm,” she said and did as she was told. “I’d like that--to be at the sea.”

“Two months,” he said.

“What?” She opened her eyes and turned to him.

“I promise you that in two months I’ll take you to the sea.”

“You can’t promise me that, Ross,” she said gently.

“Then two and a half months. No matter what. Even if the lockdown isn’t lifted, we’ll slip away in the cover of darkness.”

“Back to your Bonnie and Clyde fantasy,” she laughed. 

“It’s no fantasy. My family home in Cornwall is empty. There are no holidaymakers booked for the summer--that’s no surprise--so we’d be doing _all_ the Poldarks a favour by keeping it clean and occupied,” he explained.

“A service to your ancient and honourable family? Really?” She raised a brow. “Or do you just want me to clean the place?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. _I_ would see to the maintenance…”

“Okay, I’ll hold you to your word, Ross Vennor Poldark.”

He laughed but the way she’d said his full name moved him in an unexpected way. He almost dropped the jar of mustard and caught it just before it hit the kitchen floor.

“Do you want to put on some music?” he asked, trying to regain his composure. “This may take a while still. I’ve only just started the hollandaise and haven’t begun to poach the eggs yet.”

“Oh Ross! You just couldn’t wait to show off, could you?” she cried. “So much for honourable--in fact you’re an absolute scoundrel!” She’d finally grasped what he was preparing and her eyes shone then narrowed, as if she were trying to decide how she felt about his grand gesture. In the end a laugh escaped from behind her mask so he was confident she was more amused than irked.

“I was thinking that asparagus might go well with this?” he said nonchalantly.

“Asparagus? Yes! Have we some? I can’t believe it--I’ve missed it so much. I could do them on the grill pan,” she said. He’d wanted to wait on her that morning, to attend to all her needs, her desires, but also saw that giving her an occupation might help keep her troubled thoughts at bay. 

“Sounds perfect. I won’t use all the lemons,” he said then saw she’d pulled her mobile out of the pocket of the dressing gown. 

By the expression on her face he guessed she still hadn’t received the message they were awaiting. Rather than ignoring what they both were thinking, he decided to address it head on.

“I’m sorry, love. I’d like to say surely today you’ll receive word but…”

“But you can’t. I know. What a strange reality, Ross,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think what does it even matter? Today? Tomorrow? A month from now? I feel like I have no concept of time anymore. It certainly doesn’t feel linear…”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It's like it moves in fits and starts. Some hours are as slow as treacle then whole days are gone by in a flash.” 

“Perhaps it would help if we saw other people,” he suggested.

“Is that your usual break-up line, Ross? So this meant to be a partin’ meal, is it?” she teased. 

_“_ No!”

 _“_ Tell me,” she went on wickedly, apparently entertained by his flustered state. “Do the ladies find your sexy Eggs Benedict a fair consolation--to ease the let down?”

“No! That’s not what I...not ‘date’ others but expand _our_ social circle. Maybe have drinks over zoom with friends but...together…”

“As a couple?” she asked. “Oh Ross. I’d like that. We can flip a coin to see whose mates we see first though I’m rather curious to meet our mutual benefactress Caroline Enys, if you think she’d be up for such a thing. Curious but also a little intimidated.”

“She’s already decided she adores you so there is nothing to be afraid of there.”

“But she has no real cause to like me! That’s even more reason to be wary!”

“I’ll see if she’s available this evening. She might appreciate the company since she’s isolating all alone.”

“Maybe Dwight can join us too?” she suggested.

“Good idea.”

“Oh but maybe if he isn’t workin’ he’d want to be with her…just her, I mean.”

“You are very considerate, my dear. I can check. And if they aren’t available we can use my great aunt as back up entertainment.”

“Don’t joke, Ross. I’m indebted to your Aunt Agatha. I’ve eaten her chocolates, remember.”

“Well we needn’t tell her. And I think she’d like you too,” Ross said. “She’d see you have substance.”

“Erm I don’t know about that,” she laughed. “Well, Ross, I have three missed calls that I must have slept through this mornin’--all from Mrs. Whitworth,” she sighed. “I’d better go bite the bullet and ring her back. But when I’m done, I’ll prepare the asparagus, okay?”

“Deal.”

She slid behind him quickly and scuttled out of the room trying to minimise the moment she was close. Still he thought he could feel her warmth, smell her hair.

He turned back to his hollandaise but realised he’d lost track of the egg yolks he was separating. He tried to count them in the bowl but it was possible two had melded into each other--or was that just one big yolk?

“Damn it!” He growled and began to count the broken shells instead.

_I won’t be impressing anyone if I make a right mess of the sauce..._

He’d need to think up some other diversions for the day. Perhaps a trip to the roof if it stopped raining or maybe more online shopping. What could he convince her that they needed in the flat? New cookware? New towels? He could ask her to help pick out some clothes for him--she might like doing that. He doubted she’d allow him to buy anything just for her, unless he did it entirely behind her back.

 _I wonder how she feels about jewelry?_ he thought. She was so unlike any woman he’d ever known--he felt he couldn’t make any predictions about her tastes there. She wore small earrings that looked like garnets but that was all. No necklaces or rings. Maybe she liked jewelry but being a student just didn’t have much of value. Or maybe she owned loads but of course wouldn’t have worn any to clean his flat. No, he couldn’t assume anything about her.

How could he even broach the subject? Maybe a casual discussion of birthstones. Sure, casual...because semi precious stones were what they ordinarily spoke about.

_Bollocks! Face it, Poldark. You know you can't bribe her, so why do you insist on trying?_

No, he remained unable to grant her the one thing she seemed to truly want. And it was what he wanted as well.

Ross looked back to his bowl with a sigh. Thankfully he'd sorted his egg yolks and hadn’t had to bin it all and start over. Prep and precision timing were key to pulling off a decent Eggs Benedict, so he’d have to plan his next moves carefully. 

_Finish the sauce, and only then start poaching the eggs._ He wondered how many she’d want. That was also hard to predict. Some days she had an impressive appetite and others she ate like a bird.

 _Better make extra._ They had plenty of eggs so there was no need to frugal.

His mobile buzzed. His first instinct was to ignore it but then something strange compelled him to pick it up.

“Yes, yes...Madam. Are you growing impatient for your breakfast?” he teased when he saw who it was.

“No...I spoke to Mrs. Whitworth...and erm…” Demelza stammered.

“Good god, what did she say now?” Ross asked, already on edge. Why was this woman continuing to pester Demelza, and of times?

“No, Ross. It’s not that. She had collected my post. My test results--they were sent to my flat.”

Suddenly Demelza was standing behind him. He hadn’t heard the bedroom door open or her footsteps in the hallway. He turned and saw the absolutely incomprehensible expression on her face.

Her face. 

It took him a moment to process that he was trying to read her full, unobscured face. She wasn’t wearing a mask.

A question started to gather in his throat but before it was fully formed, she’d stepped toward him. One of her hands took his mobile from him and gently set it down, the other reached up and in one fluid motion, removed his own mask, then lingered on his cheek. 

“Ross.” It was barely more than a whisper. Like a key turning in an old lock, gingerly catching its long-still spring.

She said nothing else but he understood all the same, and instinctively moved closer to her until he found her parted lips. 

He hadn't expected them to be so soft, so determined—and so familiar. But it was a kiss he’d dreamt of for weeks and a woman he‘d come to know so well. There were no thoughts, no words, only this kiss. _Their_ kiss.

He should have known that there would be no furious ripping of garments or impatient gnashing of teeth, that when they finally came together, it would be something else entirely. Tender and alive. It would be coming home--and there’d be no going back.

Her thumb was still on his beard and with each small stroke, he felt himself waking from a dark slumber, possibly shaking off one a deep spell while falling under another. Confusion and enlightenment in equal measure swirled in a mist around him. He gasped, uncertain of when he’d last breathed. Perhaps he never had before.

“De...melz…” He tried to say her name but failed. He realised his face must have been contorted, paralysed by the overload of sensory information. Finally he seemed to regain some control and reached an arm around her, settling his hand on the small of her back and pulling her whole body closer to him.

Ross kissed her again--he hadn’t really ever stopped--then put his other hand to her wondrous head. It was real and touchable and no day dream.

Her long fingers--less gentle now--had traveled up from his face to his hair, and wove intractably into his curls. She pressed herself against his torso, her hand splayed greedily across his back. 

Overwhelmed at the feeling of holding her--and of being held--he felt his knees buckle. 

“Oh,” he groaned. Relief, joy, desire, all emotions he’d furloughed in order to get through. Now for the first time in months he felt truly alive.

She was first to pull her lips away, settling her face against his chest. It took him a moment but once his shirt began to dampen, he realised that her sharp inhalations weren’t just an attempt to catch her breath, but deep sobs demanding release. 

Now his strong arms crushed her to him. 

“My love,” he managed to say, no longer fighting his own tears. “My love,” he repeated.

“Ross,” she wept. “Oh, Ross, will you hold me?”

“Yes,” he said, doing it.

“Please hold me and never let me go.”

“I never will, if you give me the chance. I won’t let go.” Her heaving breaths, her beating heart, her iron grip all matched his.

Suddenly he had a need to see her face, to look into her eyes, but he couldn’t bear to loosen his embrace. He twisted his neck and nuzzled her forehead until she looked up, then he kissed the tears that still streamed from her eyes.

She smiled and the whole world opened before him.

“They were negative--my results,” she snuffled into his shoulder, then laughed when she realised she’d also wiped her runny nose on his shirt.

“I assumed that’s what this meant,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so happy for you, my love.” He found her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

“For us,” she whispered and kissed him again.

“Come with me.”

He meant to the bedroom, where they could collapse together. He knew he was too weak to continue standing and suspected she’d be in similar shape.

“Yes, Ross,” she said and silently reached behind him to switch off the cooker.

There was no turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes I played with the naughty bedsheet that appears in Winston Graham’s _The Angry Tide_. Why not give it to Ross? And readers will recognize the following sequence from the _The Four Swans_. Borrowed brazenly, modified slightly, revered tremendously.
> 
> ‘Oh, Ross, will you not hold me?’  
> ‘Yes,’ he said, doing it.  
> ‘Please hold me and never let me go.’  
> ‘Nor shall I, if you give me the chance.’


	27. A Thousand Layers

“Mmm,” Demelza’s cheek was against Ross’s chest and as she murmured, Ross could feel the vibration move through him. Her skin was damp from exhilaration but still felt cool.

“My love? Cold?” Ross asked softly and stopped stroking her silky head to lean closer to her face. 

“I suppose I am, just a little,” she said, then looked up at him. “How did you know?”

“You shivered. And I can feel your feet on mine,” he laughed.

“Oh sorry.” She began to pull them away but he quickly found them again and ran his big toe along her ankle. He loved the feeling of their feet side by side.

“No, come here. I can get us another blanket, if you’d like.” He tenderly tucked the duvet around the lovely province where her lower back met her legs, then allowed his arms to encircle her bare body under the covers. 

His hold on her was strong. All morning it had been an odd mixture of clumsy impulse and precision gentleness. Not unlike a starved wanderer just returned from the wilderness, he’d been served an elegant _mille-feuille_ as his first meal, and now struggled to remember long-abandoned table manners. It wouldn't do to devour her in one gulp. 

But as delicate as she might appear, Demelza didn’t seem to mind his ravenous urges and powerful moves. In fact when he gracelessly wrapped his forearm around her neck and pulled her closer so he might kiss the top of her head, or when, spent, he’d collapsed face down next to her, his heavy arm pinning her, she seemed excited by these decisive, almost possessive gestures and wriggled closer in assent. She was not so fragile after all.

He just had to have her, and as he had predicted, now that she was within his reach he could not let her go. Aware of his own strength, he also relied on quiet whispers, slow kisses, and soft nose nuzzles for counterbalance. And he remained carefully attentive to the cues she gave him. Her sighs, her words told a story and so did her busy hands. They hadn’t hesitated to guide his to other regions of her body when that’s what she wanted. And when she clamped her legs around his, her own vigour was impressive.

In the past few hours he'd learned to read her, all of her, in a new way. Wordlessly she told him what she wanted. And he was more than happy to oblige.

Her now-familiar body was pressed against his; there was no space between them. 

“No, no. You’re all I need,” she said softly. “You’ve enough heat for us both.”

“So I do. Are you tired?” 

“You mean from such exertion?” she laughed. “We did well, Ross, for two souls out of shape and out of practice.” She stroked his chest hair then reached up for his beard. He loved the feeling of her hand on his face.

“At least you didn’t say it’s like riding a bike…” But he knew--this was decidedly unlike other physical encounters either of them had had with others.

“I _am_ a bit sleepy…” She tried to contain a yawn.

“Then go to sleep, silly.” His heart swelled at this warm love nestled in his arms and he couldn’t help kissing her mouth before he’d even finished speaking. He knew that wasn't going to convince her to rest any time soon.

“No...not yet,” she smiled. 

Oh how he’d missed her smile, for so long it had been hidden from his view. 

“I think…”

“Yes?” He traced her jaw with his nose, breathing in her scent. She smelled like sweat and violets and pine all mingled together--and also like him. He gently licked her salty skin before planting another kiss on the soft part where her neck and shoulder joined. She stretched to allow him more access and dutifully his lips traveled down to her collarbone. 

“Grr…” It was half a purr, half a growl followed a playful bite that he knew would make her giggle.

“I was goin’ to say I felt at peace after so many weeks of agitation but now I don't know about that…”

“Am I interrupting your sense of well-being, my love?” he teased. “I certainly hadn’t meant to…”

“I think you know exactly what you’re doin’, Ross…” She moved her hand from his beard down to his inner thigh, then shifted her body ever so slightly to wedge herself under him.

“Looks like you do as well,” he replied and felt his whole body pulse in anticipation of what was to come.

They’d already made love several times that day. And each time had been distinct from the last, perhaps mirroring all the ways in which two people can come together and all the things it could mean.

\---

When Ross and Demelza had first stumbled into the bedroom hours earlier, they found themselves pausing, still dazed, just inside the doorway. Minds and hearts and flesh all vibrated at different frequencies.

The experience of being close, of hugging one another, even holding hands, was so new and exhilarating--and had been hard fought, so it was not to be rushed and discarded lightly. But the shock of these sudden physical sensations coupled with the immense rush of relief, was overwhelming, and they both sought the bed, if only to take the weight off their wobbly legs.

Demelza had walked into the room first and as Ross followed, she turned ever so slightly, looking up at him. He saw her eyes were lamps, wide and bright as ever in the dim room. Still trembling, he stepped closer. This time his arms closed around her waist from behind and he kissed her neck--slow and measured at first until a hunger rose to the surface and his eagerness won over his restraint. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and as she did so, the blue-green dressing gown began to slip. With gentle fingers, he reached up and began to peel it from her shoulder. His mouth followed the trail of cool exposed skin until a deliberate shrug from her caused the gown to slide down entirely and pool at her feet. 

She turned and kissed him.

“Ross," she whispered. 

He’d frequently marveled at how she said his name. Only one syllable yet so expressive, so emotive. But that morning he caught a new note--one he’d never heard before--it meant something different, and with his hands still firmly planted on her waist, he steered her backwards until they reached the bed. 

Now they were back in each other’s arms, a desperate clasping and clutching. Fully intertwined, arms and legs tangled, neck against neck. Two lost bodies reunited after an eternal separation. 

“Demelza,” he breathed into her hair. 

Before Ross had even registered tears were returning, her hand was wiping them from his eyes. He felt no self consciousness--the tears seemed to be not just for them, but for all the world. Full of love and relief and comfort. Even of hope.

She kissed his damp cheek, a signal it was her turn to care for him. Her kiss was soft but her arms gripped him with a strength that matched his own, and in a flash he understood what he meant to her too.

Such loss everywhere and yet they’d found each other.

Ross pulled away to look at her. 

_My Demelza._

Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were serious. This time when he kissed her, he dragged her lower lip down slowly and he felt her fingers begin to move up and down his back. 

Good god she was lovely. And he wanted her.

“Oh.” She hitched a breath as he reached up to feel her warm belly under the slim strappy top she wore. “Yes...”

“I like this,” he said, slowly sliding the silky fabric up over her skin. His hands were continuing their exploration when suddenly she let out another gasp, as though she’d remembered she’d forgotten an appointment or had left the gas on.

“What is it?” he whispered, his lips on her ear.

“Nothin’,” she said and closed her eyes and smiled again. “It doesn’t matter--don’t stop, please. I love your hands on me.”

Ross moved his mouth to the straps at her shoulder, then was struck with his own reminder. He paused, his thumb brushing along her well-formed collar bone. While he found this black top alluring he knew there were underthings far sexier she’d hidden in her bag. Perhaps she was regretting that she hadn’t had a chance to wear them this first time they were together. He almost said something but didn’t want to ruin a later surprise. And he couldn’t bear to stop just so she could change underwear--underwear he was determined to remove. Ross doubted her disappointment would last long but thought it wise to distract her all the same.

“What do you say we take it off altogether?” he proposed. Without hesitation she tugged the vest over her head then began to do the same to his shirt.

He’d seen her beautiful breasts before and for weeks had dreamt of touching them, of kissing them. But now all he wanted was to feel her bare torso against his. She seemed to have the same desire and as soon his shirt had been discarded, she pressed herself to him.

“Ross…”

Now she was driving the kisses, her hands in his hair, her mouth open and demanding.

He groaned. After months of monk-like isolation, he was unaccustomed to so much pleasure but that part of his animal being was coming back to him quickly. His arousal--and hers--could not be ignored.

Her determined hand managed to undo his trousers while he kissed her breast. Softly at first, then he grew more passionate and her nipple hardened under his tongue. 

She gasped again and he pulled away worried he’d been too eager, too rough. But apparently that hadn’t been what alarmed her and she clasped his head back to her with a low moan.

“I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want to stop…”

“Then we won’t,” he whispered into her flesh, his hands splayed across her back. 

“But Ross...mmm,” she began to speak, then halted to let out another soft pant of pleasure. She regained her focus and tried again. “Maybe this is the worst time to ask, but do you have any…”

He raised his head and kissed her lips with a smile.

“Yes, I have condoms…” he laughed lightly. “I bought them for _us_ ,” he added. He hated to interrupt the passionate rhythm they’d found but felt more of an explanation was in order.

“What? When?” she asked and put her hand to his cheek.

“Well I’ve only been out once without you.”

“Back then? When you...the day that…?”

“Yes, seems ages ago now. I suppose I was hopeful. But then you told me you didn't like me…”

“I never said that,” she said. Her hand was still down his trousers and slowly resumed its inspired caressing. “And you know it.” 

He hated to pull away from her for even a moment but did, so he might better wriggle out of his pants entirely, then rose from the bed to quickly retrieve the condoms from the drawer across the room. 

“Thank you…” she said.

He turned, fully naked now, to face her. Her eyes were soft and once again were telling him a whole story that he was able to grasp in a single look. He crawled back, across her body until he hovered over her, closer to those eyes, closer to her mouth. “For what?” he asked softly, running his nose along her cheekbone.

“For wantin’ me. For thinkin’ enough of us to plan ahead. For holdin’ on to hope.”

\--

Although Ross had frequently imagined it, the first time he and Demelza made love was an experience greater than he could have ever dreamt.

With some past lovers, Ross had felt his body was acting separately from his mind. He was never very proud of such encounters nor did he find them particularly satisfying upon reflection, but he suspected that wasn’t uncommon. Since he’d also been fortunate enough to have had some sexual experiences in his adult life when emotions had been front and center, he knew the difference. But he’d never before felt such a total integration as he did when he was with Demelza. His whole _being_ was making love to her. Muscles and cells and thoughts and feelings, everything he’d ever been or ever would be. It would take some time to unravel the complexity, the depth of this union.

The physical sensation, the firestorm of pleasure, could not be ignored. A relief so profound it seemed to belong to more than just the two of them. His groans were indistinguishable from hers, originating from somewhere deep inside them both, mingling together in the shared air they now breathed. It wasn't animalistic, for even though it was elemental, instinctual, it was indeed very human and came from a need, _a will_ to connect. To transcend fear, to live.

Theirs was not unlike the sort of bonding that can happen between two people in times of trauma or war, when physical threats to survival can intensify urges and attraction. He’d read about that and knew it to be the premise of many great novels. But that’s not all theirs was. The companionship they’d forged was unlike any he’d ever known, but that was their doing, not the results of the times. And before he’d ever touched her, he knew his liking had already deepened to love. 

So he found that making love with her was a life’s experience in mere minutes. And more. It was the renewal of life itself.

The second time had been another kind of pleasure. Joyous, full of laughter--a sort of mischievous romp. They’d settled into a playful connection weeks ago but they'd missed out on lighthearted physical affection and were determined to make up for lost time. Now he ran his lips along the curves of her inner thighs, nibbling teasingly, before settling his body between her legs. She responded with enthusiastic scratches to his flesh, pinches to his backside, and tugs to his hair. The glorious mattress--the one they now shared-- bounced and they called out in excitement and delight, finding fun in their intimate explorations. And that was restorative in a way they hadn’t even realised they’d needed.

And now, this last time? For Ross, it was everything. Not the excitement of making love afresh to a stranger. Not a game. He knew her--and she him. They came together again because they _belonged_ together. This time was something different again, and in some new way the greatest of all. 

Everything had changed and he knew he would never be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Winston Graham described Ross and Demelza’s first love scene best, and with the greatest respect I borrowed a few key words (frequently he describes Demelza’s eyes as “lamps”) and played with the staging. Here’s his: “His hands touched the cool skin of her back. Abruptly they slipped inside her frock and closed about her waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and he kissed her until the room went dark before her eyes.”― Winston Graham, _Ross Poldark, A Novel of Cornwall_
> 
> Also Ross crying tears “for all the world” is from _The Four Swans_ (only then it was Demelza doing the crying, but I think we all have been doing a little of that lately, no?) And when Ross kisses her neck “in the soft part where neck and shoulder join” (sigh) well, that is from _Warleggan_ right before they go out to a party together and Ross “notices” Demelza again, largely because he is reminded other men will find her attractive. (Grr! How dare WG include such moments of tenderness in that novel. Such a roller coaster of love and torture!)
> 
> Finally, Ross musing about his contentment/love for Demelza is borrowed from the ending of the magically elusive Ward Lock edition of _Ross Poldark, A Novel of Cornwall_. (He recalls the pilchard night as “A life’s experience in an hour…” then as they walk home from Trenwith that first Christmas, he goes on to describe what he is feeling for Demelza as “Not the bittersweet pride of last night when I made love afresh to a stranger. This is something different again, and in some new way the greatest of all.”)


	28. Rainy Day People

“Oh my,” Demelza laughed as her stomach gurgled. 

Ross pulled back the duvet and gave her exposed belly a kiss. It was meant to be a loving gesture but instead seemed to inspire a torrent of giggles from her. Apparently his touch--the same one that had turned her on earlier--now was unbearable.

“I knew you were ticklish on your feet but never guessed you'd be so ticklish _everywhere,_ ” he said. His devilish fingers hovered over her as he contemplated going in for more torturous play. She sensed his game and stared him down. 

_You wouldn’t dare_ , her eyes clearly warned.

“I've never been close enough for you to tickle, Ross, so it wouldn’t really come up in conversation, would it? Besides, it comes and goes.” Her stomach growled again.

“You must be hungry,” he laughed. “I promised you breakfast and here I am…” 

“Lyin’ down on the job? Oh Ross, I can wait,” she said.

“It's already past lunchtime. I’m afraid the Eggs Benedict are spoiled now but I can make you something else--something quick.”

“No, nothin’s spoiled...I put everythin’ away in the fridge,” she smiled.

“When…?”

“When I got up to pee. I couldn’t let your efforts and our precious groceries go to waste--it will all be ready when you are. But no rush…”

“You think of everything. Now just stay here and…” He sat up but moved no further when he felt her hand on his arm.

“No, don’t leave, Ross. We’ll both go together but not just yet.”

“Hmm…” He wasn’t convinced but all the same laid his head back on the pillow next to hers.

“Ross, you're fussin’ over me,” she said seriously.

“Are you denying me that right?”

“You’ve been doin’ nothin’ but for weeks.”

“Yes but not in the way I’ve wanted--not like this,” he explained.

“Then let me fuss over you too.” She kissed his neck, then his beard, then the tip of his nose.

“What are you doin’?” he asked softly.

“Lovin’ you,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“And do you? Love me?” he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Yes, Ross. More than anythin’...I love you. And do you?”

“Love you?”

She nodded.

“Oh very much. So very much.” He pulled down so once again she was nestled against his chest. “But I think you know that.”

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” he said. “And have for some time. This all might _feel_ sudden but it isn’t new.”

“I know...I told you time didn’t make sense to me anymore. When was it that you told me I was ‘ _more than a mere distraction or a balm to ease your spirits_.’ Was that just a week ago? Am I still?” she asked coyly, quoting the letter he had written for her on the torturous day they were separated.

“Yes.” Now he kissed her fingertips one by one.

 _“Your companionship, your care has_ _redeemed me_ ,” she said with a smile and a sigh. “Well, that's true for me too.”

“I should add love to that list. Your love has saved me, Demelza.” He shook his head in wonder. “I’m surprised you remember the exact words.”

“I have it committed to memory,” she said proudly.

“You never told me before that you liked it so much.”

“Surely I did!” She cocked a brow in disbelief.

“No--you came back home and we were both so relieved that we never spoke of it...I know I forgot to ask what you thought.”

“But I at least acknowledged it? No? I didn’t tell you that when I got it I was standin’ in the road and I had to stop to catch my breath? That I wished to god it would start rainin’ so no strangers would see the tears streamin’ down my face?”

He shook his head.

“That it was like a beacon callin’ me home and I actually ran the last way mutterin’ your name like a mad woman?” Her voice had gotten soft.

“No,” he whispered.

“Really?”

“You never told me.”

“Well, I’m a rubbish girlfriend, aren’t I?” she laughed.

“The absolute worst.” 

He kissed her again and pressed his warm feet to her cold ones. This time she didn’t pull away. Moved by this, he folded back the covers to look at them cradled together. Elegant pink toes danced along the dark hair that crept down to the top of his foot. She didn’t seem to mind his body hair and in fact had sought it out to touch--all of it--over and over these past hours.

“Demelza,” Ross said, sitting up suddenly and scanning the room. “Where’s your mobile?”

“Erm, I have no idea. Yours is in the kitchen…”

“That won’t do,” he grumbled playfully then leapt from the bed to rifle through the items of clothing strewn about the floor. He found what he was looking for in the pocket of her dressing gown.

“Come back here!” she commanded and threw back the covers to welcome his naked body next to hers again.

“Yes, yes,” He took a few steps then paused teasingly next to the bed. He could see her whole body wriggle with impatience. 

“Ross,” she said, with only a hint of stern warning, but it was her flinty stare that told him she was not to be trifled with. Quickly he slipped back into the bed and offered a conciliatory peck on her forehead as penance for straying.

“You only love me for my body heat,” he said, pulling her close.

“If that’s so then this relationship is doomed in the summer,” she countered. “Ross, what are you doin’?” She was laughing as he pulled back the duvet to expose their feet.

“I was lying here enjoying your icy toes on me and I asked myself ‘What would Demelza do?’ and, naturally, this came to mind,” he answered cryptically, then snapped a few photos of their feet together. He looked them over and pulled an exaggeratedly satisfied expression before handing her the mobile.

“They need your finishing touch, of course,” he added.

“Oh Ross!” She giggled but he sensed she was touched by the gesture all the same. Her fingers flew as they scrolled and tapped, apparently well practised at photo editing. 

He watched her face--so joyous, so content--and again felt that stirring in his chest. Somehow that was his doing--he was responsible for her happiness. And in that moment it felt like the single greatest achievement of his life.

“I think...there!” she said and handed it back to him. She’d cropped the shot just a bit and applied a filter so the photo looked almost black and white, the only colour was the pink of her toes.

“I knew you’d do something special with it but so quickly?” he said in awe. “If you’re going to post that, you’ll need a good caption.”

“Oh, Ross...can I? Post it?” she asked, with shining eyes.

“You don’t need my permission,” he said. “It’s your mobile, your Instagram.”

“And _your_ feet,” she laughed. “Okay how about this?” she said and showed him the screen. “Or is it too much too soon?”

_#Best Boyfriend_

“I shall endeavour to live up to the hype,” he said and rested his head against her soft breast.

“Well maybe that’s better said just between us,” she said. “I like to maintain a bit of distance in my public persona…” 

Ross had already come to appreciate her guarded discretion and took no offence. They’d never talked about it but he knew she had no intention of keeping him a secret nor was she uncertain about what was happening between them. No, she was honest and steadfast and wouldn’t be one to play games or sleep with him just for a few weeks’ diversion. She’d be all in and no matter what she posted publicly about them, she’d already declared her stance privately. She loved him.

“Speakin’ of distance, what about this?” She handed her mobile again.”Too opaque? Or does it read that we’re floutin’ protocol?”

_#definitely not two metres apart_

He laughed, his deep chuckle shaking the bed. “No one could ever accuse us of disregarding protocols, my love,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I have it…here.”

_#rainy day people #I ❤ rainy mornings_

“It seems rather sunny in here to me,” he said.

“Well, yes,” she said. “Yes it does.” 

“It’s perfect, Demelza. Only…”

“What is it?”

“Only it’s no longer morning.”

“Shh, Ross. I told you I have no concept of time anymore.”

He smiled softly and kissed her.

“Then I won’t remind you. We can lie around and forget the rest of the world. Does that suit you?”

“Ross...I don't want to forget it, the world that is. I want you and it--you _in_ it.” She tried to sit up then realised she couldn’t without moving him off her and gave up the struggle. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes, I think I understand…” He found her hand again and wove his fingers through hers.

“It's not that you're not enough,” she said quickly, ”Or that I’m not grateful that we have each other…”

“No one could ever accuse you of ingratitude, Demelza,” he laughed.

“I mean a few hours ago I had so much fear and worry and now I have you...us. And it is enough, it’s so much...”

“I know, my love. We could just be _better_ if the world were right again,” he sighed. “And it will be,” he added.

“You can’t say that,” she chided softly.

“But I can hope it.”

“So you can, Ross. And perhaps you have a little hope to spare... for me?”

“Always. What’s mine is yours”

“Then I suppose,” she reconsidered, “since we’ve nowhere to go, maybe we can lie around and forget the rest of the world--for just a while...” 

“For just for a while,” he repeated and closed his eyes, settling against her warm body. 

Far in the distance, a car honked--it seemed almost foreign, it had been so long since he’d heard that particular city sound--but it quickly stopped and the room grew quiet again. He was feeling his mind drift, thoughts coming and going in no particular order, and knew he wouldn’t fight sleep if that was what was overpowering him. 

“Grrrr...glur...glur...” Demelza’s stomach growled again and he snapped awake, his rich deep laugh filling the room. 

“That’s it! Get up, Carne,” he said squeezing her tightly, then reaching around he offered a soft spank on her bottom. “I’m feeding you right now and I won’t hear any arguments.” 

She rolled her eyes ever so slightly and smiled. "Yes, Ross," she said. 

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t intended to name the chapter after this song by Gordon Lightfoot but in case it inspires a connection, here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phcDgM2Mazk
> 
> Thanks so much for all the faithful readers and the lovely comments--I’m sorry it's been a few weeks in between updates. There is more to come although I’m back at (exhausting) work full time now so I need to try harder to sneak time in for these darlings.


	29. The Haircut

“Yes! Brilliant!” Ross put down his mobile and chuckled in delight.

“Good news, I take it?” Demelza planted a kiss on his head then tried to skirt past him in the kitchen. Instead of letting her get by, he grabbed her waist and pulled her to his lap, confident he’d at least get a giggle from her. 

“Oh? Is that how it’s to be this mornin’?” She’d just been in the shower and her hair dripped on his shirt as she snuggled close to him.

“Mmm,” he sighed and dragged his lips across her warm temple.

“I’m gettin' you all wet,” she said softly but didn't pull away. He liked that she too had a need to be close, that it wasn’t one sided. Of course it made sense since they’d both been touch-deprived for months. Without upsetting her cuddle, he took the towel that was around her shoulders and gently squeezed the remaining droplets from her damp hair.

At such a gesture, her giggle turned to a breath, almost a gasp.

Her lids had been closed but when she sensed he was finished, she looked up at him with deep and serious eyes. He knew that look--an invitation to passion, a declaration of love, a tearing down of all barricades built to keep others at a distance--and he leaned in to kiss her.

But before he reached her mouth, her laugh returned, boisterous and bright, shaking them both.

“I’m glad my kisses inspire such amusement.” He feigned hurt but her good spirits were too infectious for him to maintain any pretenses.

“Ross, my darlin’,” she said and kissed away his fake pout until he too smiled. “It’s not your kisses but your hair. You have the most glorious bedhead today...”

“I’m rather sure that’s your doing, my dear. You put me through my paces last night.”

“Oh?”

“Even when you are asleep you seem to always be moving.” He grabbed a handful of thigh as if trying to still her restless legs.

“Perhaps you’d like me back on the sofa so you can have your bed all to yourself again? You’d get more rest that way…” she offered.

“Never.” He then pinched her bottom to further drive home his point. “I’m quite aware of my good fortune to have such a warm and responsive bedmate. Untidy hair is a small price to pay.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked, gently swatting his hand away. “I believe it is my turn to make breakfast.”

“No, we can do it together.” For too long they’d had to take everything in turns. Now he wanted to revel in the joy of sharing all the spaces in the flat with her. All of them. They’d already begun that project.

His mind wandered to the previous evening when they’d tried to watch a film together in the living room. It was a thoroughly unsuccessful endeavour for as soon as they’d found themselves entwined on the sofa, their focus quickly moved elsewhere. 

After only several minutes had passed yet several garments had already been shed, Demelza had made the move to switch off the television.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves,” she’d whispered as her mouth grazed Ross’s chest hair. She was right. _Double Indemnity_ could wait; they were unable to resist each other.

Making love on the cold hard leather wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was the thrill of such well-deserved freedom that spurred them on.

“Oh Ross, how’s your back?” Demelza had asked him afterwards, and tried to discreetly flex her stiff legs. She’d had to clench so many muscles to maintain her own balance and to prevent them both from tumbling off the side of the sofa altogether. But she hadn’t seemed to be complaining then, and perhaps any aches that surfaced afterwards were well worth the pleasure they’d both shared. At least that had been Ross’s take.

“I cannot deny it’s felt better,” he’d laughed and tried to sit up without moving too far from her. “But a sacrifice I’d gladly make again.” He kissed her hand then pulled her back down to him for another kiss on her lips. “How did we ever manage sleeping on this thing, night after night?”

“Well there was only one of us at a time,” she’d reminded him. “And we didn’t really have a choice, did we?”

“Maybe next time we’re better off on the floor,” he’d suggested.

“For sleepin’?” She’d seemed to not quite understand what he was getting at.

“No, my love, _not_ for sleeping,” he clarified.

“Oh?” she’d raised her brow. “I think I’d like that.” A coy smile revealed that her imagination was already running away from her. 

“Ross?” Demelza said now, turning his face with her gentle but firm hand to look at hers. “I just asked you if you preferred bacon or sausage but you seem to be elsewhere.”

“No, I’m here in our kitchen with you,” he squeezed her tightly. 

“So which is it? Bacon or…”

“A haircut.”

“What?” she laughed.

“I seem to recall you promised me a haircut once you could be close to me.”

“If you’d like.” She playfully draped the towel over his head and gave it a rub. “But not until we’ve eaten,” she said, rising from his lap. “You know I was never really one for breakfast before I started livin' with you.” She skipped towards the fridge, seemingly eager to get started.

 _Living with you_. He liked the way that sounded.

“I think we were so bored in those first days we looked forward to meals as a way of marking the time.”

“I don't think we were bored, Ross. We were afraid of bein' bored maybe.”

“And just afraid.” 

“Yes, that,” she said. “But I think I came to like meals because it was an excuse to talk to you.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d need an excuse.”

“Oh _Mister Ross Poldark_ , sexy international businessman with your stylish highrise flat--you were so intimidatin’! I didn't know what I’d gotten myself into!”

“Intimidating? Surely you must have seen that I...that I…”

“Yes, I saw that you were kind and sweet and funny. And feedin’ you gave me a chance to repay your kindness.”

“You repaid that debt long ago.”

“Ross, I almost forgot--you were on your mobile when I came in. Who was it? It sounded like good news.”

“Ah, I was texting Dwight. He and Caroline are available to do Zoom Happy Hour this evening.”

“Oh, that is brilliant!” she cried. “Please tell me this means Dwight has an actual night off.” They’d been trying to arrange a time to meet up with him and Caroline for several days now. It was worrisome, but perhaps not unexpected, how much many extra shifts he was putting in.

“Yes, our date with both Mrs. and Dr. Enys is for 4PM.”

“Not exactly evenin’, is it?” 

“It was Caroline’s suggestion to start that early. But tell me, have you somewhere else to be?”

“I’ll check my diary,” she laughed.

\------

“Try not to squirm, dear,” Demelza retucked the towel around Ross’s neck that he’d yanked aside to scratch his face and neck. She hadn’t even started anything yet but he felt itchy just imagining the hair clippings falling on his skin.

“I think that’s your teacher voice. Does this mean I’m your naughty pupil?” He turned and winked at her.

“Do you actually want me to do this or not?” She rolled her eyes. “Face forward.”

Ross was seated on a chair in the hallway while Demelza held her shears aloft, planning her attack. She’d already moved the whole set up three times. The bathroom, while initially deemed ideal for easy clean-up, proved to be too small for her to have full range of motion.

“It’s a haircut, not a ballet,” he’d laughed but dutifully followed her lead.

The kitchen was out of the question lest they wanted stray hair in their food. She’d had him positioned closer to the living room at one point but then didn’t like the light. Finally she found a spot just outside the bedroom that seemed to satisfy her.

“Do you have a favourite barber?” she asked as she finally started on the back of his head.

“I suppose I do, rather close to my office. I think that’s why I prefer it--the convenience. But Richard is a pleasant enough bloke. He doesn’t talk too much.” Ross wondered how the man was getting by. That would surely be one sort of business hit hard.

“I could see you wouldn’t be one for chattin’, would you, Ross?” she said. “But I’ll bet you pay too much because of the location. Let me guess--the place is understated yet still quietly swanky? Like you?”

“ _I’m_ understated?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve told you that before. It’s meant to be a good thing. Anyway, I imagine you still pay less than I would for a woman’s cut. I hate that. And I’m not even talkin’ about colour or a glaze or somethin’ fancy. Even the tiniest trim for a lady is more than a man’s full business. Why is that? I mean besides systemic sexism...”

“I’ll introduce you to my barber. I’m sure he’d take you on at a fair price,” Ross laughed.

She was quiet for a bit and began to hum as she worked. Finally she spoke again as though the conversation had been continuing in her head.

“You know what else I don’t like?” she said.

“You mean besides me and my unruly hair?”

“I love your hair--I’m only doin' this because you asked for it. I think your long hair looks beautiful, Ross. I’d been dreamin' for months about runnin’ my hands through it and wonderin’ if they’d get stuck. And now I know,” she smiled.

“I like it when you pull my hair.”

“Me too.” She ran her fingers through it then resumed her careful snipping.

“Okay so it's just me you don't like,” he said.

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t put up with your incessant teasin’. No, I was goin’ to say I’m not a fan of time travel.”

“That’s good because if it was one of your hobbies that might be inconvenient to the future of this relationship.”

“I mean films about time travel. I just don’t find them interestin’.”

“You liked _It’s A Wonderful Life_ \--that has a time travel element.”

“No, it doesn’t. Does that count? Not really, Ross.”

“Sure it does. They travel back in time to see what would have happened.”

“Interestin’…” she replied.

“Hmm, you just said you don't find them interesting. Which is it?”

“Interestin’ experiment. For us, I mean. Listen, if I hadn’t covered for Prudie here, and went about my regularly scheduled business on that fateful Wednesday back in March...”

“March 18th.”

“Impressive Ross. But let's not call that our ‘anniversary’, okay? If I weren't here--in this part of the city, odds are I might have made it back to my flat. Then I would have been in lockdown there with Keren and Mark--and not you.”

“Good god,” he exhaled. He didn’t want to think of that.

“I mean all three of us did eventually become sick as it was but, Ross? Who would have cared for me?”

“Demelza…”

“Now do you see why I don’t like this game? Can we not travel back in time please?”

“What about forward?” he asked. “The future does look brighter than it did a few days ago.”

“I’m rather likin’ the present, Ross.” She leaned over and kissed his neck then pulled away laughing. “Ew, hair!” she spat, furiously wiping her mouth to be rid of the stray bits that stubbornly clung to her lips. “Oh yuck,” she laughed.

“I thought you just said you liked my hair?” He cocked his head playfully.

“Not like that. Come on, stop movin’, Ross,” she chided and started snipping again. He liked the way she raked her fingers through his hair as she worked, first pulling it taut, then letting it loosen again before she did any actual cutting. He couldn’t see her work but he trusted from her confident humming that all was proceeding satisfactorily.

“You seem to have experience cutting curly hair,” he said, trying his best to be still for her. He wanted more than anything to reach around and pull her to his lap for another cuddle. He’d waited weeks, months, to do so but suddenly wasn’t convinced he could wait a few more minutes.

“My brother Drake has curly hair. Sorta similar texture to yours. I’d cut it for him from time to time,” she explained. “Sam’s hair is straighter--I made a right mess once with him. But curly hair is more forgivin’...”

“And you’re really the only ginger in the family?” Ross asked. He’d seen photos of Sam and Drake, both dark headed but with eyes that were bright and intense like Demelza’s.

“No, my other brother Luke has red hair,” she said flatly. “Well his is _reddish--_ sometimes it looks blonde or even brown dependin’ on the light, whereas there is no mistakin’ mine.”

“Luke? You’ve another brother?” Ross asked and turned around to look at her. He’d never heard her mention the name, even though he'd asked her before if she bore a resemblance to any family members. He had to actually remind himself that they had miles to go getting to know each other. Like icebergs, there were still depths to explore--and they would surely do so in the time that lay ahead of them.

“Ross, I almost cut your ear!” She gave it a quick kiss, this time careful not to get a mouthful of stray bits, then went back to her work. “Yeah, Luke and I don’t exactly get on. We haven't talked--I mean not even exchange a single word--in years.”

“Oh?” He didn’t pry but left the door open. If she wanted to explain, he’d be there to listen. 

“We broke over family stuff,” she said. “He wasn’t happy when I left home--like I would stay there,” she sputtered, “He called me...what was it? Oh yes, ‘selfish and ungrateful’, and he claimed that by leavin' I’d treated my father ‘disrespectfully’.” She almost spat as she said the words.

Early on Demelza had told Ross she was estranged from her father--and that it had been a wise move--but she’d never really explained why. He’d guessed that it must mean something significant that she’d never brought it up again in their hours and hours of conversation.

But somehow this news surprised Ross. Not the fact that she had another brother she’d never bothered to mention, but that she’d make such a definitive break with him. Ross somehow had cast her as more forgiving or maybe loyal. No, that was just it, wasn’t it? She was honest--and if she was going to be true to herself, once she’d made up her mind, she wouldn't waver. 

“Is he--Luke--older?” Ross tried to encourage her to continue. Meanwhile his thoughts kept churning. How could anyone possibly accuse her, of all people, of being selfish or ungrateful?

“Yes...no, I mean, I’m the oldest. Luke’s younger than me, by ten months. When we were little, folks thought we were twins--it didn't help that I wore his clothes. But he’s older than Drake and Sam.” 

“And do they--the others--all get on?”

“Drake and Sam are very tight. They are on speakin’ terms with Luke--and with my father still though they are polite enough not to mention it to me. I’m the odd one out, I suppose.”

“When was the last time you spoke to…”

“Luke?”

“Your father…”

“Oh, well. Maybe two years now? He used to ring every now and then just to grunt, ‘Ay, where are you, girl?’ like he just happened to remember he had a daughter.” She managed such a gruff and humourous impression that Ross had to fight the urge to laugh. She didn’t seem to find it funny at all. “Usually when he was pissed,” she continued. “He eventually stopped so either he doesn’t care or he no longer remembers.”

“You know you’re unforgettable, don’t you, my love?”

“Yes, well…” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Maybe I should remind him--phone him and tell him where you are. Although I’m not sure he’d be happy to hear I’ve kept you prisoner these past months.” Ross knew he was taking a risk by teasing but thought it might be just what she needed. He was correct. She laughed then rubbed her cheek against his hair.

“Or that I’ve spent the last 48 hours in your bed?” she added.

“Maybe we don’t mention that.”

“You know, Ross, even though he’d probably call you a poncy tosser...”

“Poncy? Me?”

“Those are his words, not mine...No, despite that, I actually think he’d listen to you, respect you,” she said. “He usually had enough sense to know when he’d lose a fight and not even try.”

_Of course I’d destroy anyone who would hurt her. She knows this._

“Well, I’d prefer he listen to you and respect you, Demelza." He hoped she hadn't seen his arm flex instinctively as he thought about Tom Carne.

“I know, Ross, but I don’t let that bother me any longer. I’m listened to and respected elsewhere in my life. I do see that.”

Without turning around, Ross reached back with his hand until he caught some part of her--it didn’t matter which part--as long as he could touch her. It turned out to be her leg, which suited him just fine. She laughed and gave his hand a pat then continued on in her work. The cloud seemed to have passed, as it often did with her. 

Yes, so many things they’d still need to learn about each other. The previous night, she’d fallen asleep before him, and for some time he’d lain next to her quietly admiring her sleeping form. She was partially in shadow and partially illuminated by the moonlight that crept in through the blinds. In hours of exploring her body he’d made so many new discoveries, but what these physical traits meant about her as a person was what he found fascinating.

He’d been charmed to learn Demelza left her russet mound quite natural, even though she'd mentioned she had her legs waxed regularly. That, he felt, was a most intimate secret, a precious treasure that he was lucky enough to discover. As he watched her sleep, he’d resisted stroking such inviting softness, lest he wake her, so instead he ran his hands along her knees. She’d a rather pronounced scar on her left knee--she’d explained to him once that it came from falling out of a tree as a teenager.

“Were you drunk?” he’d laughed.

“No, I just overestimated my strength and abilities. But I suppose that’s better than underestimatin’ them.”

“Then it is a marker of your triumphs,” he’d offered. He loved all her blemishes and thought them like grace notes adding something to a piece of music. But also because they made her real to him. 

What they hadn’t talked about were the other two scars--on her back just below her shoulder blade. He’d first noticed them the night he pulled her from the bath but then he’d had other things on his mind. Since he’d become Demelza’s lover, he’d been able to see them up close. Another intimate secret. 

He’d sensed instinctively that there was something in the story of how she’d acquired them--something dark--and that she’d explain in due course. Until such a time, he gingerly traced his finger tips alongside them, as if hoping to erase them with his love.

Ross had assumed those scars had come from her father but now, after learning of this brother, he wondered if she suffered abuse from him as well. Despite her entreaties to him to be still in the chair, he felt his hands balling into fists, yet knew he was absolutely powerless. No matter how much he’d like to, he couldn’t change the past. 

“I love you,” he said aloud, seemingly out of nowhere but perhaps it was always on his mind these days. 

“Oh Ross. I love you too,” Demelza laughed without stopping her work. “And if you do love me, as you say you do, then maybe when I’m finished with your hair, you can give _mine_ a trim,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dare. I haven’t your skill,” he replied.

“Just the other day you were boastin’ of your groomin’ prowess, were you not? You’ve varnished boats afterall,” she teased.

“I was just desperate to caress your feet, if I recall. I would have said anything.”

“Oh fuck, I got this side already. I’d better be careful or I’ll end up givin’ you a look more fittin’ with our playlist,” she said, referring to the Sex Pistols song that was just coming to an end. She’d been valiantly trying to give the group a second chance after her earlier appraisal, but Ross knew they weren’t exactly her favourite. “I'd need loads of hair gel though. Or was it all hair spray back then?” 

“Come on, concentrate, Carne,” Ross said.

“Uh...” 

Without turning around Ross knew something was wrong. He could hear the scissors had stopped again and sensed it had nothing to do with her work. She wouldn’t lie if she’d goofed or cut too much off--at least that's what his gut told him. No, this was something else. Perhaps bringing up her father had been a bad idea after all.

Tentatively, he spoke. “Demelza?”

“I…”

Now he dared to turn around. “What is it?”

“To be honest, I’m worried,” she said. 

This wasn’t about the haircut.

“My love?” He reached for her hand but when he saw her lowered, troubled face he found he was so moved that he rose to his feet. She twisted her lip then stepped forward and buried her face in his chest.

“Oh Ross! Sometimes I do feel like I’m in such a fog!” she snuffled. “Even though I’m not sick anymore there’s still this!”

“Okay, tell me what you mean,” he said, trying to remain measured, but inside he was crumpling with fear at her unmistakable panic. 

“I didn't tell you why my results were sent to Mrs. Whitworth,” she confessed. “It was because I transposed the last two digits of my mobile on the form at the test site. So when they couldn't text me, by default they sent them by post to my legal residence.”

“Demelza, that doesn’t mean anything...you were so stressed and anxious that day. We all were. It was a mistake anyone could have made.” He hoped this was true. He’d never asked her if she’d intentionally chosen ‘Monaco’ as her password as a laugh, or if that had been an error as well.

“Oh Ross, I can’t honestly say it was a once off, can I? I just...feel slow.”

“Demelza, everything is off. It has been for weeks--I feel that way too and I haven’t been sick. When the world turned upside down, we all just went ‘offline’.”

“Don't use computer analogies for brains...I hate those,” she snuffled.

“Yes of course,” he laughed lightly. He’d come to find her peculiar likes and dislikes amusing.

“And I read, even though there aren’t yet empirical studies, difficulties in focusin’ and mental fog are common among ‘survivors’--actually very common.”

 _Survivors._ The word had some weight.

“In some cases it seems to be real memory loss too.”

“Demelza, listen to yourself, what you just said. You are still _reading_ \--that means something. Everyday you spend hours with all sorts of articles and books!”

“But maybe I’m not quite myself...only two months ago, when I was in school, I read so much more--difficult stuff too. Now I’m so easily distracted and everythin’ feels so tedious...”

“I must try harder to be more stimulating,” he tried to joke. 

“Ross, don't tease.”

“Oh my love, loads of people feel that way. We are all thrown off our game. Change of routine, isolation, uncertainty, anxiety--and depression--will do that.” In that moment he hoped that asking her to take on data entry for Grace Energy would serve to engage her. But then again, it could just as easily be so mind numbing that it exacerbated the situation.

“What if this isn’t that-- _just_ anxiety or cabin fever? Ross, please! Don't try to sweep this under the carpet!” She sounded firm.

“Of course,” he nodded and stroked her hair. He doubted she had genuine cause to worry but knew he had to take her feelings, her lived experience seriously. “Look, let’s talk to Dwight about it. He can probably tell us what to look for specifically. How to monitor things and when we should seek help, what we can do…”

 _We._ Yes, it was not just Demelza’s problem--if it were in fact a problem--though she’d no doubt bear the brunt of it. They never talked about potential lingering effects of her illness. He’d read about them too, symptoms that could recur, other health problems that unexpectedly had emerged in some people later. 

He preferred thinking of various Carnes as the biggest threat to contend with but they were just the most concrete and understandable. Ones he knew how to fight and keep at bay. It might be that the road ahead of them was less certain than he’d like to admit. 

_But we have each other--all of each other--and that’s something we didn’t have just days ago._

He found he was holding her tightly but she exhaled a long sigh that told him she was accepting his comfort and letting go of some of her tension. He put his hand under her chin then gently turned her face up to his to kiss her.

“Mmm,” she said softly and looked up into his eyes. “Thank you, Ross. But let’s not ask Dwight tonight--tonight’s meant to be fun, just mates, not a visit with my doctor.”

“Of course,” he said, and stroked her face. She smiled then laughed after giving him closer scrutiny. 

“Well Ross, I’d better finish your hair or your friends will think the worst of me!”

“On the contrary, they’ve already seen that you’ve brought out the best in me,” he said running one hand over his head. “And I can always wear a hat,” he said, and allowed his other hand to wander down to her backside.

“Now it's you that needs to concentrate, Ross.”

“Oh I am very focused,” he responded hungrily, and began to back her down the hall just a few feet towards the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head (perhaps in the name of being concise or maybe out of laziness?) there are always only three Carne brothers. Again, I apologize to William, John, and Robert, Winston Graham’s other Carne creations. Maybe they were decent folks? Maybe someday they’ll get their own story.
> 
> If you need to release some tension and frustration, and want to have a little fun while doing so, listen to “Vacant” by the Sex Pistols: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwpyZ48MawQ]
> 
> Finally, I borrowed this line from Winston Graham’s _The Black Moon._  
>  _“Blemishes on the beauty of a person one loves are like grace notes adding something to a piece of music…”_ Done with humble admiration and love for his words, as always.
> 
> _Thanks so much for your patience with the long intervals between recent updates and for sticking with this story nonetheless. COVID-world is exhausting and demanding at best, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had the sorts of all-consuming professional challenges I’ve had the last six weeks. And each day for so many of us is an emotional roller coaster. Writing this does help but please have mercy on this little fic writer! More to come on this as soon as I can!_


	30. Happy Hour

“Demelza? What are you wearing...have you put on makeup?” Ross asked. 

It was shortly before their 4 PM engagement with the Enyses and she’d just stepped out of the bathroom. She didn’t appear dramatically different, just a subtle change. Besides the makeup, she was also wearing one of Ross’s jumpers, a rather plain black one that still managed to look alluring on her. Of course it was too big--it kept sliding off her shoulder and revealing an enticing collarbone and lacy bra strap.

“Well, erm, yes?” She seemed surprised. “Just a bit of eyeliner and mascara...” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes trying to puzzle out why he was asking.

“This is new…” he started, then immediately felt flustered. “I mean, it’s lovely--you always are, it's just unexpected…”

“Glad you noticed, Ross,” she said with a playful smirk, and moved closer to him.

 _Is there lipstick too?_ he wondered and tried to sneak another peek without being too obvious. No, her lips were bare, just a luscious rose-pink. 

“I suppose I don't normally,” she said. “But it isn’t the first time since I came here, you know.”

“Of course. I...knew that...” he said quickly.

“Stop squirmin’! I’m aware that you’ve _noticed_ me, Ross, so there’s no worries there,” she laughed but put her hand on his arm, for the extra reassurance he didn’t know he needed but apparently she did. “You’re right, I don’t wear makeup often,” she went on and walked past him into the kitchen to see to their drinks. 

He followed close behind. 

“I certainly wasn’t wearin’ any the day I first met you--I never do when I‘m cleanin’. If fumes get in your eyes and your mascara runs? That’s no kind of look. But I did happen to have my makeup bag with me--with my gym things.--so once or twice in our early days, I put some on. Mostly when I was feelin’ low and needed a pick-me-up. Of course I never did when I was ill…”

“You are always exceptionally beautiful.” Ross kissed her, overwhelmed at his good fortune to have fallen in love with such a lovely woman who happened to love him back.

“You know you do that, Ross? Whenever I mention bein’ sick, you change the subject.”

“Demelza, I…” He realised he was taking a defensive tone and pulled back when he saw her smile. Gentle and unwavering.

“It isn’t a judgement, only an observation,” she said disarmingly, and pulled two glasses down from the shelf then held them to the light to check they were clean. “Some of the times I bothered with makeup was when I was tryin’ to flirt with you, like on my birthday. But then perhaps my efforts fell flat--maybe you didn’t really notice me afterall?” she teased.

“So that was all deliberate? You _did_ _know_ what you were doing?” he laughed. “And you were quite good--expert level flirt--but I told you that.” Ross stepped closer, pegging her against the sink. 

“Or maybe you weren’t lookin’ at my face?” She bit her lip and stared him down.

Now he crossed his arms around her back and pulled her towards him. The kiss he gave her was slow and open mouthed, and very much meant to be felt in other parts of her body besides her lips. It was the kiss he might have dared after hours of chatting her up in a pub or bar. A kiss that signaled how he was interested in spending the next few hours.

“Oh,” she gasped and pressed her midsection closer to his belt. 

So he was able to disarm as well.

“Tell me, who are you planning to flirt with tonight?” His voice was low and raspy as he dragged his hungry mouth along her neck. 

“Do I detect some jealousy?” She pulled away to look into his eyes, then laughed and went back to her business of uncorking a bottle of Rioja Reserva. It was one of the finer ones they had and she’d decided that they needed to 'serve' something special to their guests tonight, even if they’d be the only ones drinking it.

“No,” he said quickly. 

Earlier, when she’d let slip more about her family, Ross had made a silent vow to step up his game. To convince her he could be trusted completely--and never feared. That meant not even a trace of toxically masculine behaviour--aggression, jealousy, overbearingness--none of that. He’d have to check his actions, for even though he considered himself enlightened, old habits and ingrained social conventions could be hard to shake.

In Ross's own lifetime, decent male role models had been rare, and he wondered if the same was true for Demelza. What sort of expectations did she have and how had she formed them? Maybe that was why she’d put up with her old boyfriend as long as she had. What did she say his name was? McNair? McNeil? 

_Malcolm McNeil_. 

Just a fleeting thought of the man--a man he’d never met--and the inconsiderate boorishness Demelza had reported, was enough to get Ross’s blood boiling. Yes, it was jealousy and an aggressive, protective instinct that was flaring up as well. Did Ross want to protect Demelza or claim her--and how much did those two animal instincts overlap? 

So much for his vow. To be that bothered by an ex? Ross wasn’t proud of his response. He’d simply have to try harder.

“Well, Dwight has seen me at my worst so this isn't for him,” Demelza continued and looked at Ross carefully, a slight smile forming at the sides of her mouth. It was a look she'd perfected for when she wasn’t sure he’d been listening entirely. A look that called his wandering thoughts back to the present moment.

“So it’s for Caroline?” he asked, snapping into focus.

“Why not? Women get dressed for each other--to impress. Maybe more so than for men, in fact. And Ross, she’s our benefactress afterall. I can’t risk givin’ her a shabby impression, can I?”

“Yes, then there’d be no more nail varnish or grapefruit,” he teased. “You look lovely. Come, it’s almost four--pour that wine then let’s get on the call.”

“No! Ross! Not there. We can’t zoom from _there_ ,” Demelza cried as he started towards the bedroom.

“That’s where my laptop is. Why shouldn’t we…”

“Out of respect for them--for their _predicament_ ,” she explained.

“What?”

“We can be together,” she started.

“Yes, finally,” he said.

“But they can’t, Ross. He’s alone in their flat and she’s...what did you say her family estate was called?”

“Killewarren.”

“Right. She’s there alone and no doubt they are missin’ each other terribly. So it wouldn’t be right for us to be cuddled up in our bed, rubbin’ it in.”

_Our bed._

“It’s possible they’d be happy for us.” But he knew she was right.

“Of course they would,” she said. “But let’s not make it worse for them. No, we can zoom from the sofa.”

“We’ll still have to be close--to fit in the same screen. But I do see your point. It’s very perceptive and considerate of you. Demelza--sometimes you make me ashamed…”

“Oh pish! Hasn’t this new world taught you anythin’, Ross? Who has time or mental space for shame?”

“Compassion then?” he asked.

She wove her wingers through his and squeezed his hand. He’d found the still-new, small gesture of holding her hand to be breathtaking, and its significance--its magnitude--wasn’t lost on him. The first gesture they’d sought, that they’d longed for all those weeks. It was another sort of kiss--intimate and extraordinary.

“Yes, always, compassion,” she said.

\---

“Is this far enough apart from you,” Ross teased as he settled next to Demelza on the sofa.

“Well actually, it might be better if we…” She leapt to her feet and returned less than a minute later, dragging a chair in from the kitchen on which to prop the laptop. “Now if we put this just a few feet away...we needn’t squish into the screen.”

“I rather like squishing but okay,” he said and allowed her to initiate the zoom set up.

“It’s the greatest privilege as a doctor to see a patient who has recovered. So I’m quite looking forward to these different circumstances...” A man’s voice--one familiar to them both--came from the laptop.

“Well I heard she’s gorgeous. At least that’s what Ross told me, but it’s clear he’s completely besotted. I can’t wait to see her for myself,” another voice--this time Caroline--responded. 

Apparently Dwight was already on with Caroline, and neither had realised they had company listening in. 

Demelza turned to Ross, trying to suppress a giggle. 

_Good god, what else did I say about Demelza that they might unwittingly reveal?_ Ross thought. But the panic dissipated and was quickly replaced by guilt for eavesdropping.

“Unmute it but don’t turn the camera on just yet,” Ross whispered to Demelza conspiratorially. 

“Okay?” she laughed, but did as he asked.

“Demelza, are we connected?” Ross then said loudly to give the Enyses notice that they were not alone. Demelza nodded approvingly when she caught on to his plan.

“Yes, Ross,” she said, matching his volume. “Oh wait--we need to turn on our video.” She winked then joined him on the sofa.

“Hello darlings!” Caroline greeted them. “Oh Demelza! It is so wonderful to finally meet. I’ve heard a great deal about you from both Ross and Dwight.”

“Oh yes, me too. I mean it’s brilliant to put a face to the name,” Demelza said brightly. “Not sure, how I feel about everyone talkin’ about me, though. Hope it was all good.” She gave Ross a quick glance and he could see by the way she bit her lip that she was trying hard not to burst into giggles.

“Don’t worry, Demelza, you can still count on doctor-patient confidentiality,” Dwight smiled. 

Despite the attempts he was making to be cheerful, Dwight looked tired, especially around his eyes. It seemed he was also growing a beard, but his wasn’t quite long enough to groom--not properly anyway. The scruffy growth gave him the appearance of someone who’d been wandering rough in the wilderness or perhaps had been imprisoned against his will.

“Um, excuse me, am I here too? Or have I just gate-crashed someone else’s happy hour?” Ross teased.

“Oh, Ross always has to be the center of attention, doesn’t he?” Caroline joked. “No worries, Ross. No one has forgotten you. May I point out how handsome you look--or will that inflame both my husband and your girlfriend?”

“Well I’d agree with you, there,” Dwight said. “Ross, even though you still have that ridiculous thing on your face, you are looking much better than the last time we facetimed.”

“That’s because he’s happy, my dear,” Caroline said with a satisfied smile. ”And for good reason.”

“ _Thing_? Are you seriously disparaging _my_ beard?” Ross asked in mock indignation and rubbed his hand over its glossy glory. 

“No, Ross, I believe everyone is sayin’ how attractive you are. Take the compliment and let’s move on,” Demelza laughed and rolled her eyes. She took a sip from her glass then furrowed her brow. Without saying a word, she took Ross’s glass from him, then leapt to her feet again.

“How are you holding up, Caroline?” Ross asked, trusting Demelza had some sort of plan. She usually did.

Caroline looked exceptionally well. She wore an alluring white blouse that was open at the top, her shining blonde hair hung loosely down her back. Her face had good colour but there was something else about her, something that suited her, something that Ross couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Me? I’m the most fortunate of all of you sorry lot. I have this delightful green countryside to wander through, horses to ride, a huge house to get lost in, even a skilled cook to prepare my meals. I am in heaven,” Caroline said, but Ross could tell it was an act. She was just as gutted to be separated from Dwight as Dwight was to be apart from her.

“I thought you preferred the city,” Ross asked. “That’s what you always say when you're in the country anyway.”

“I do but only for its entertainment. So take that away, as well as any hopes of a social life, and all you are left with is cramped quarters and bothersome traffic.”

“There’s been very little traffic these past weeks,” Demelza added as she reentered the room, her hands full. She handed Ross a glass of whisky before she took a sip from her wine glass, smiling with satisfaction. Whatever was in there now was apparently more to her liking. “One bright side to this whole mess, I suppose.”

“Well, we’ve it on good authority that the lockdown restrictions are to be eased soon. More outdoor time allowed, more shops and pubs open, even outdoor socialising will be permitted,” Dwight explained.

“Oh that’s good news,” Demelza said.

“And more traffic,” Dwight laughed and took a swig of his beer. 

Ross was heartened to see Dwight relax. Then Ross realised how relaxed he was too. It had been some time since he’d had conversation with anyone from outside the flat that was light and purely social. And while he’d never tire of Demelza’s company, and most days she had him rolling with her wit and charm, this felt different. Precisely because it was less special and almost normal. Well, as normal as drinking with one’s mates via zoom could be. It reminded Ross that just maybe there was a future to look forward to, a regular world they could all rejoin sometime soon. 

He was also relieved by Demelza’s warm, breezy manner as she chatted for the first time with his friends. Relieved but not surprised. He knew her to be a friendly person--that’s what drew him to her in the first place--and she was too genuine to be anything other than herself. In an uncomfortable flash he recalled first meetings between old girlfriends and other friends. That awkward instant when he just knew they wouldn't all be getting on and one of them would be left behind. He’d lost a few friends whilst dating Elizabeth years ago and had somehow been sucked into her insufferable social circle in exchange. But listening now to Demelza and Caroline talk as if they’d known each other for ages, he suspected he had no worries on that score.

“I’ve been having the most vivid dreams--I must be sleeping too much. Last night I dreamed I was in the Vatican Library and I’d shown them my research credentials--those were apparently all in order--but they kicked me out for wearing flip flops. The night before that, I was being chased by a pack of dogs and had to rip off patches of my shearling coat to feed them and to keep them at bay,” Caroline said. “I’m sorry--I know it’s terribly boring to share one’s dull dreams.”

“Oh they aren’t dull at all. It’s the opposite Caroline--our dreams seem so memorable and vivid because our lives have grown dull.” Demelza replied, spoken like a true friend. “I read that it's a worldwide phenomenon,” she went on. “Loads of people are dreamin’ about similar things. It’s our brain’s way of handling intense emotions, particularly negative emotions.”

“I’d read that too,” Dwight said. “They’re calling it Lockdown Dream Syndrome. It’s so fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Fascinating? That wasn’t exactly the word that comes to mind when I think of worldwide collective anxiety,” Caroline teased her husband with a dismissive laugh. “And please, Dwight darling, don’t say it’s a way we’ve all been brought closer together because I’m not having it. It’s depressing.”

“It's better than collective insomnia,” Ross interjected.

“What I need is to once again be kept awake by Dwight’s snoring. Then I’d be perfectly content and dream free,” Caroline said.

“I do not snore,” Dwight objected.

“Yes, you do mate,” Ross laughed. “Sorry. I’m with Caroline on this one.”

“No doubt you’ll both be relieved when restrictions ease and you can be with each other again,” Demelza said.

For a moment, Ross watched Demelza on the screen as she spoke. He’d long ago come to see how much the camera loved her, even this lousy one on his laptop. When she smiled her whole face lit up--her teeth gleamed and her eyes shone--radiant and natural.

Was it also the first time he'd seen himself next to her? Perhaps. He had to admit they looked good together. And his haircut didn’t look half bad. She’d been very judicious in her trimming as she’d promised to be. Something else looked different about himself, something he almost didn’t recognise.

She turned to him, just slightly, as if she’d noticed where his eyes had gone, then gave his leg a soft pat. 

_This is what happy looks like_ , he thought.

“Oh but you see, our Dwight is _not_ relieved by the lifting of restrictions,” Caroline said.

“Restrictions eased too broadly might just help to usher in a second wave more quickly. Experts are predicting such a one will hit in the late autumn,” Dwight explained. “So many more cases…” he shook his head, perhaps unable to finish the thought.

“But nonetheless he’s agreed to take a post at the Royal Cornwall Hospital in Truro starting in July and leave the overcrowded city wards to others.” Caroline now had a devilish twist to her lips as she suppressed a smile.

“That’s brilliant!” Ross and Demelza cried in unison and raised their glasses.

“Because…” Caroline was urging Dwight to continue this announcement.

“Because it seems I’ll have another patient to attend to, one closer to home,” Dwight said with a broad grin.

“What?” Ross tried to swallow before he spoke but almost choked and ended up coughing painfully instead. Something didn’t tally. Dwight’s smile, his unmistakable joy was the wrong response if his wife was ill. 

“Oh relax, Ross, not _that_ sort of patient,” Caroline rolled her eyes. “He means there will be an additional resident at Killewarren--expected in September,” she announced, glancing down to her belly.

\---

“I knew it!” Demelza declared once they were certain they’d left the call.

“Knew that Caroline was pregnant?” he asked. “You mean the bottle of sparkling water that she was drinking wasn’t a hint?”

“Oh that. Really Ross, if Dwight didn't have a drink would you’d assume he’s pregnant? No, you’d think he was workin’ later or tryin’ to be healthy.”

“By the way, what was wrong with the Riojas Reserva?” he remembered to ask.

“It was terrible--I think it tasted corked. Such a shame. I know you paid a lot for that bottle. The cheaper Malbec was far better but we didn’t have quite enough for two.”

“Don’t worry about the money, Demelza. And I thoroughly enjoyed the whisky,” he assured her and went to pour the rejected bottle down the drain. 

“No, don’t dump it. We can still use it for somethin’,” she said. “Back to Caroline…”

“So you’re claiming no booze isn’t a clue that a woman is pregnant?” he laughed.

“Oh, it is, and so is nausea of course. I had mate at school whose mum was so suspicious whenever any of us were sick, always assumin’ we were pregnant! And I was prone to motion sickness so I got the grilin’ from her more than a few times!”

“Caroline didn’t complain of any nausea, did she?” Ross was trying to keep up but was amused by Demelza’s freeform thinking, and he was always game for stories of her girlhood.

“No, she didn’t. She looked great--and so slender to be five months along.”

“But you could tell? Before she said anything?”

“Yes, because...she was out of breath!” Demelza announced proudly.

“What?” 

_Trouble breathing is also a major symptom of..._ He began the thought then cut it off. He didn’t want to remember Demelza in that state.

“Yes, breathlessness is another physical sign of pregnancy. It’s caused by increased progesterone--that’s a hormone.”

“I know it’s a hormone,” he laughed. He loved when she talked about things she’d read, human systems in particular, just as she’d done earlier with the Enyses. He imagined she’d learned to take comfort from these explanations. At least to him they made the capricious universe seem more comprehensible.

“But good for them, Ross. Startin’ a family. I imagine it must be such a joy and a thrill and yet…”

“Terrifying?”

“Yes, the greatest terror ever, to love that much. To risk your heart that much. But worth it all the same,” she said softly. 

“And in these times…” Ross added.

“No, Ross, the fragility, the fear, the rewards--that’s true all times. And always worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savvy readers may catch little one liners and wee phrases here and there, borrowed from Winston Graham & Debbie Horsfield’s brilliant writing. All done with humble admiration as always.
> 
> I’d love to hear your recent dreams--anything memorable? More on the covid dreams phenomenon here:  
> https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/insomnia-and-vivid-dreams-rise-pandemic-anxiety-180974726/?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=socialmedia&fbclid=IwAR0RCuP7STiiiNQ9rSvl9vB64ergFqOIDB52QdCMmLqPs9R1L1cy7_1ypOk
> 
> Lastly, while there is no song or playlist written into this chapter I’d been listening to “Love My Way” by the Psychedelic Furs. I’d forgotten what a lovely and empowering song it is-- “Swallow all your tears my love/And put on your new face/You can never win or lose/If you don't run the race…”--Sigh. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGD9i718kBU&list=RDMMLGD9i718kBU


	31. Lovers and Strangers, Part I

Demelza’s legs bounced as she sat on the living room floor, Ross’s laptop on her knees. A pencil twirled between her fingers and at the same time she hummed along to some tune in her head. She just couldn’t stay still.

 _What was she like in school?_ Ross found himself wondering as he paused a moment to watch her from the doorway.

“Demelza, what if we went for a walk?” he said, bending over to kiss her on the head. He hadn’t meant to still her but that’s precisely what had happened.

“Now?” she asked, turning to him in surprise.

“If you’d like. Any business can keep,” he laughed. 

The past few days she’d grown so serious about the Grace Energy tasks she’d taken on. It pleased Ross to see her so engaged but despite her assurances to the contrary, he worried she was doing it all out of some misguided sense of her obligation--a debt to be repaid. 

“You know, Demelza, I’m surprised we haven’t been out yet. People have been allowed to ‘exercise’ for some time now.”

“Oh it's not so surprisin’, Ross, is it? The past few days we’ve been rather busy…”

“The boss is a tyrant. Let’s mutiny,” Ross said.

“Oh, I’m not talkin’ about work, Ross.” She tried to smile coyly but couldn’t seem to reign in her bright grin. She was right--there was little outside the flat that could possibly be as enticing as the warmth they’d found in their bed. “And before that I suppose I wanted to be certain I was negative before I went anywhere. And you--well you were just bein’ gentlemanly,” she explained.

“I’ve never been called that,” he chuckled.

“Of course, Ross! Through this whole thing--from day one--you've been down right chivalric. Helpin’ out a lady in need?”

“Hardly. Look, if I hadn’t been compelled to isolate after my travels, I’d have suggested we share the bed from the first night,” he said and sat down on the sofa behind her.

“Oh? That would have been interestin’... but you’d have kicked me out soon after for stealin’ your covers.” She closed the laptop to give him her full attention. 

“Most likely you’d do that, wouldn’t you,” he laughed. “Unless you let me keep you warm.”

“Maybe I would let you. But I wonder how things would be the mornin’ after if we’d slept together right away. And not waited.”

“You mean _actually_ sleep together?” he asked.

“Yes, as in _have sex_ ,” she whispered dramatically then laughed. “Would it have been awkward?”

“No,” he answered and truly believed it.

“Probably,” she countered. “There would be just so much still unknown about each other, things we wouldn't have talked about yet. We wouldn’t realise how much we like each other and if we didn't talk much after that--if things felt weird--then we’d never know. You know how it is--to sleep with someone you’ve just met.”

“Erm yes, I suppose so.”

“So you’ve done that?” she asked. “Slept with a proper stranger. Huh...I haven’t. Oh, we should watch that movie. Steve McQueen is just so charmin’ and of course Natalie Wood is always divine.“

“Yes, we should. I’m not sure I ever have...”

“You just said you had…”

“Seen that film, I mean. But since you ask, yes, I have gone home with someone I’d only just met. Not often--only once or twice--and I’m not proud of it. So you never have? Really?” 

“No, I just like to get to know someone first,” she said. 

Ross wasn’t terribly surprised. But something she had said, weeks earlier when she was teasing him, made him think she’d had such experiences. He must have misread her then--or maybe he was just now digging deeper into all the strata that made up Demelza Carne. 

No doubt she was hit on frequently when she did go out, so it wasn’t that she’d never had the opportunity. But Ross could see that she’d want to have more of a connection beyond just physical thrill. And she had so much love to give--or was that really just for him? Maybe she was cautious with dates as a means of staying safe. He recalled, with regret, that things could be much more complicated and dangerous for a woman than for a man.

“Do you think I'm old fashioned?” she asked.

“That is hardly a phrase I’d use to describe you,” he laughed.

“Because I’m not.”

“Of course you aren’t. But I’m rather sure that had we gotten together straightaway, the next morning we’d have found we liked each other enough to continue the conversation.” 

“If you say so Ross,” she said but he could tell she wasn’t thoroughly convinced.

He stroked her hair, then taking the pencil from her, got down on his knees so he was level with her. “Now about that walk…”

“Let’s go back to the park?” she suggested excitedly and stood up at once.

“I wouldn't have expected you'd want to return there,” he said looking up at her. Her legs had resumed their dancing. “It wasn't exactly my favourite day,” he added.

“No, I’m just thinkin’ about the flowers--do you think the trees are still in bloom? I hate to think we’ve missed them. We’d have to wait a whole year…” She went silent for a moment and Ross could only imagine she was thinking about an uncertain future. Indeed, would there be a spring of blooms next year? Would they be around to see it?

“If not there, perhaps elsewhere,” he said quickly. “We can explore other parks. I imagine there is an app that tells us what’s in bloom where…”

“Ugh!”

“Or not.” Was something he just said one of her peculiar dislikes?

“No, no, a walk with you sounds lovely, Ross,” she said catching herself. “Let’s, please?” She sat down next to him and rubbed his arm. There was an almost desperate note in her plea.

“But what is it?” he asked softly.

“I was just thinkin’ that if we can leave our quarters then I guess Mrs. Whitworth will expect me to come retrieve my belongin’s sometime soon.”

“We can fight her--the eviction I mean.” He put his hand on her knee and looked into her eyes.

“No, no, it's not worth it. I wouldn't want to live there with a stranger and I feel like...well, I’d better move on. You know, I’ve gone so long without my stuff, maybe I should tell her to just bin it all…” 

When she plopped back against the sofa, Ross heard frustration and exhaustion in her sigh.

“Surely there is something you miss?” he asked.

“My stand mixer would come in handy now. I could do some good bakin’ for you,” she said. 

“I’d like that. Like you said, that's what everyone else is doing. I believe we’re remiss in our breadmaking.”

“Yes, so it seems. But you don’t really need a mixer for a lot of bread--especially sourdough. I miss some of my books, but even then, your library has kept me occupied so I’m not complainin’ there.”

“You sound very monk-like, Demelza, in your detachment from your possessions,” he said.

“Well, don't laugh, Ross, but I’d miss my old dog.”

“Your dog?” This whole time she’d never mentioned a pet left behind. Was this another unmentioned secret like her brother, Luke? It didn't add up. She would never have abandoned a dog.

“Not a real one,” she laughed, “It's a stuffed one that I’ve had since I was a girl. I don’t exactly sleep with him but he still lives on my bed and has been with me through everythin’. Sorta pathetic for a grown woman, isn’t it?”

“I'm sure it’ll match our new bedding when that arrives so we can make room for it when you move in--you never gave me an answer by the way.”

“About what? The new sheets?”

“Moving in here with me. Permanently, I mean.”

“You never asked,” she said.

“Yes I did. I told you you could stay here as long as you liked,” he said.

“That's not the same thing as askin’ me to _move in_ , not as a guest or a flatmate, but as your live-in lover. That’s serious business.” She looked at him with her incredulous stare--arched brow, narrow eyed--the one she usually saved for when he was taking the piss.

“Is it? Seems logical to me. You've been living here and now you're my lover, so what’s the issue? You have to agree it's quite practical in fact,” he tried to reassure her of his sincerity.

“That’s the problem--that it’s easy, practical…”

“What?”

“It can’t just be a financial decision, Ross.”

“It isn't.”

“I mean we can’t let finances be the reason we _stay_ in it,” she added.

“Are you planning on leaving me already?”

“No, but if you change your mind _someday.”_

“Never.”

“Someday, Ross. Oh in the first days of love it seems impossible that it could happen, but someday, who knows why, you might feel differently about me. And you might think you couldn't possibly leave or ask me to since I couldn't afford another flat.”

“Love in the time of inflated city real estate,” he laughed. “Nice story, but it’s not going to happen. Look, Demelza. we’ve both said it a hundred times, what happens in the future doesn’t matter.”

“Oh I never said that! It matters very much. That’s like sayin’ now doesn’t matter…”

“What? Of course now matters--that’s my point.” He tried not to laugh at her charmingly meandering logic. 

“Yes, Ross, but now was once the future.”

“I thought you don't believe in time travel.” He gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear and moved closer to her on the sofa.

“I never said that…” 

“What?” Now he didn’t hold back and openly chuckled.

“I said I don’t like it as a plot device in books or movies. In fact, I just read today that it is at least _mathematically_ possible.” 

“Light morning reading?” Ross smiled at her waiting for her to continue. 

He was going to tease her for her eclectic taste in reading material but didn't want to call too much attention again to her focus or mental clarity. Outwardly she seemed fine and he hoped the data project she’d taken on for Grace Energy was making a difference. She hadn’t said more about her mental fog but she might be trying to spare him and his worries.

“But as you said, time travel would be highly inconvenient to this relationship.” She joined in his laughter and kissed his bearded cheek.

“So, I'm worth sticking around for? In the present time? Tell me, Demelza, how many lovers in the future have you already jilted for me?” he asked.

“Must be hundreds by now, Ross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: If you want to read more about the mathematical possibility of time travel here, is one such summary. It apparently has to do with the paradox…
> 
> https://www.popularmechanics.com/science/math/a34146674/paradox-free-time-travel-is-possible/
> 
> Also, if you’ve never seen the film _Love With a Proper Stranger_ , follow Demelza’s advice and watch it. It's really great--McQueen and Wood are brilliant together and it has a good soundtrack too. I just love the scenes of 1960s New York City.


	32. Lovers and Strangers, Part II

“What are you thinkin’ for lunch?” Demelza put down her book for a moment and turned to Ross, careful not to upset him in his cuddle. 

He’d been pretending to read the newspaper online but after about twenty minutes, had finally given up and put the iPad down entirely. Now he was just enjoying resting his head against her chest as they both stretched out on the bed. 

“I hadn’t been. We have a while still… but I think…” He hadn’t really formulated the thought. He didn’t want to move but deep inside knew he must.

“Yes?” she coaxed.

“I’m going out for a bit. Care to join me, my love?” he asked and sat up to dress. How long had it been since he’d worn shoes? He couldn’t remember.

“What? Where are you goin’? I thought we agreed to do some park hoppin’ tomorrow?” She was amused but also confused by his sudden conviction.

“The shops,” he said simply.

“Are you worried about how we’re fixed for food? I thought we still had plenty,” she asked.

“It isn’t food we need, Demelza.” He didn’t say anything more but she seemed to understand that he meant their supply of Durex was dwindling.

“Oh, of course,” she said and lowered her eyes. 

“You aren't blushing, are you?” He asked with a raised brow then abandoned his search for a clean shirt. He crawled across her and once his mouth was level with hers, kissed her until she gave a bright laugh.

“Maybe we need to put ourselves on a sex diet,” she said. Her leg wrapped around him and she playfully tickled the back of his hairy leg with her big toe.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, nuzzling his nose along her cheek.

“I don’t?”

“You are a rubbish liar, Demelza.”

“I shall bear that in mind and try to improve,” she giggled. “Okay, Ross, you go forage for _supplies_. I’m going to stay here and finish indexin’ these supplier registration forms for Grace Energy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Exactly what are you questionin’, Ross? My ability to manage the Grace tasks I’ve taken on?”

“It’s just that last time I went out without you…”

“Good god, you can be thick, sometimes, Ross. You went without tellin’ me then. At a time when no one was goin’ out for any reason. If I wanted to go today--or if I didn't want you to go at all--then I’d tell you."

“Of course, but all the same, why don’t you make me a list of anything you need?”

“You’re still afraid you‘ll somehow make me cross!” she laughed. “Oh Ross!”

He looked into her eyes and saw that she was right. There was nothing capricious or impetuous about her, no reason he should fear her moods. She was always honest with him and he knew he could trust her in a way he’d never trusted anyone before.

His arms closed around her waist and once again he rested his head against her heart. 

“Demelza,” he sighed and closed his eyes. “I will never doubt you again.”

“Oh, yes you will,” she laughed. “But I’ll forgive you anyway.”

\-----

“Mission accomplished?” Demelza met Ross at the door with a kiss and reached to take some of the carrier bags from him. 

“Oh yes. No worries on that score. Ah, ah ah...not this one. This is the surprise,” he said and held the mystery bag aloft.

“Oh Ross, darlin’, it’s hardly a surprise since you warned me in advance,” she laughed.

 _Don’t make lunch. I have takeaway,_ he’d texted her earlier. 

“Still I hadn’t said _what_ I was bringing home,” he replied but knew he couldn’t keep the secret for much longer.

“What do I smell? Is that…?” Her feet were dancing again, this time in anticipation, and her face was bright--a dazzling smile grew bigger and bigger, her eyes shone. 

He could resist her no more and let her peek in the bag.

“It is!” she cried.

“Chicken and chips,” he said proudly, hoping that it was still something she craved. It had been weeks since she’d mentioned it, and that was before she’d become ill. Her sense of taste and smell had returned but he’d read that sometimes there were long term changes to taste, and that flavours one might have liked before the illness might later seem repulsive. He’d need to be ready for that and not take it personally.

“You remembered! I can’t believe you remembered!” Now her arms were around his neck and he tried, clumsily, to wrap her in an embrace whilst still laden with shopping.

“Oh sorry, let me help you,” she said. “No--don’t take your shoes off. Go wash your hands and then I have a surprise for you!” She was barely able to contain a squeal of excitement in her voice.

\----

“This is brilliant!” Ross sighed as they pushed open the heavy door and stepped on to the roof. It was a mild day--no misty rain or gusts of wind as there had been the evening they first ventured up together. “Shall we go further?” he asked, nodding towards the ladder.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe you go first then I can hand things up to you?” She bit her lip and tried to puzzle out how she could climb up whilst toting their picnic lunch. She’d packed it all--bottle of wine, glasses, a blanket to sit on and now Ross’s takeaway chicken and chips--in a plastic laundry basket with handles.

“Allow me,’ he said and tucked the flexible basket firmly under his arm and began to climb using only one hand.

“Oh! Do be careful,” she called and positioned herself underneath to catch anything that might slip from his grasp.

“You can’t fool me, Demelza, you aren't worried about me but that I’ll drop your lunch,” he teased. 

He quickly made it to the top, then recalling she wasn’t fond of heights, turned to help her up. Unlike the last time they’d made this climb, he was able to reach freely for her hand, and when she was close enough, his grip on her grew stronger and he pulled her the rest of the way. Once she’d cleared the top of the ladder, he swooped her up in his arms, lifting her feet a few inches off the black roofing felt. Only reluctantly did he set her down, but then couldn’t resist pulling her close for a kiss.

“Oh my love, we’ve come so far,” he said, trying to choke back the lump that had formed in his throat. His playful joy had quickly morphed into something that threatened to overwhelm him.

“The ladder’s only four metres,” she laughed softly, then put her hand to his face and looked into his eyes. “Yes, yes we have, Ross.” She wove her fingers into his and the gesture, the memory it evoked, wasn’t lost on him.

“It does seem like years ago,” she said. “That you helped me up when I almost slipped on the wet ladder.”

“You looked at me and I knew…”

 _“We knew_ ,” she corrected gently. 

“But I do like you better without the marigolds,” he said and brought his hand to his lips.

Faintly in the distance the slow whush of light traffic could be heard--an almost unfamiliar sound these days. A gull cried from somewhere closer to the chain wire fence at the western edge of the roof.

“Uh oh, it seems we aren’t alone,” he grumbled.

“Oh I don’t mind them but we’d better guard our chips. And at least it’s only gulls. Our neighbours--it’s a wonder none of them are up here? I hope they are well…”

“Me too but all the same I don’t want to see them just now.”

“Did you see many people in the streets today?” she asked and began to spread out the blanket for them to sit on.

“More than when we went for our tests.” Ross had noticed that the strangers today seemed to make eye contact and even wave hello from a distance. “It all did feel lighter somehow--maybe because the weather has changed or maybe it was me. Knowing what I had--who I had--waiting for me at home.”

“Or maybe the fear really is behind us?” she offered.

He gave her a weak smile and hoped she was correct. He couldn't help remember what Dwight had said, about a second wave occurring sometime in the future. If they were lucky it would be later that autumn. As lovely as this afternoon on the roof was, and despite the joy and pleasure they found in the flat together, he didn’t want to face confinement for months on end again. Not here anyway. 

A plan which had already taken root in his mind weeks before suddenly crystalised: they had to get out of the city.

He’d start making inquiries tomorrow so that the moment the lockdown was lifted, and travel no longer restricted, they’d be ready to go. Of course he’d need to ask her--what if she wasn’t sold on the idea?

“Come, Ross.” Demelza’s voice called him back into focus and he gladly took the glass of wine she’d poured him. He settled next to her on the blanket as she continued to spread out their lunch.

“Cheers,” he said. Yes, they were close enough now to clink glasses--a fantasy only weeks ago. “You know I dreamt about this,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the cry of the gulls. “Well not exactly this,” he continued, “but having a real date with you on the roof. Only I hadn’t imagined the sun ever being bright again or that the clouds would lift.”

“And?” she smiled. “Do I measure up to your dreams?”

“You are infinitely better in the flesh.” He would have reached for her hand again but she was busy, moving about setting out their food. The gulls were watching but so far had kept a cautious distance.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she cried and looked longingly at the chicken leg she’d just raised to her mouth. Reluctantly she set it down again. “Could you hand me a…” 

Before she finished her sentence, Ross passed her a serviette for her greasy fingers then watched as she rummaged in the basket for the next surprise..

“Ta da!” she sang proudly. 

Techno inspired percussion--whimsical and funky--followed by the melancholic swell of what sounded like an accordion floated around them. 

“How? What is…?”

“It’s your wireless speaker, Ross!” she laughed. “I found it in the drawer in the living room. Luckily it works with my mobile.”

“I forgot I had that. Actually I’m not sure it is mine. Perhaps someone left it at my flat?”

“Let’s hope whoever _she_ is, she isn’t mournin’ the loss. Although I’ve no doubt she’s missin’ you,” she said with a wink.

“I didn’t know you liked tango,” he said, ignoring her jab. “Is this...?”

“Close, shh--listen,” she said just as a sensual contralto voice began.

“ _Strange, I’ve seen that face before. Seen him hanging 'round my door. Like a hawk stealing for the prey. Like the night waiting for the day_...”

“Ah Grace Jones,” he nodded. 

“Very good, Ross,” she said coyly but at once her face transformed into an expression of ecstasy. She was no longer concerned about the music or Ross; she’d finally bitten into the fried chicken. “Oh Ross! This is amazin’! '' she cried. “Fucking hell!”

“That good, huh?” he laughed. “Glad to know I’ve _finally_ pleased you. Though I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten that same enthusiasm from you in the bedroom.”

“And you?” She waved away his teasing. “ Are you enjoyin’ your lunch too?”

“It’s wonderful but I’ve been so well fed these past months that this simply pales in comparison to…”

Now she leaned forward to kiss him and interrupt him mid sentence. “Shush, Ross,” she giggled. “Just eat. And enjoy the moment…”

“Believe me I am,” he said and took a lusty gulp of his wine. The zesty sauvignon blanc worked well with the salty, double buttermilk-battered chicken so he couldn’t resist refilling his glass. “Although the boss might not approve,” he said.

“Oh I meant to tell the boss, I had a most productive mornin’ so he’ll be all set for his meetin’ tomorrow,” she said.

“Now it’s my turn to say shush. No work talk,” he laughed and pulled her closer for another, longer kiss. Afterwards she licked her lips, then furrowed her brow.

“Not to your liking?” he asked.

“No, it’s just...my lips itch.”

“I’ve never gotten that complaint from you before.” He poured more wine in her glass and dutifully she took a sip. 

“Do they look funny? My lips I mean…”

“No, they look beautiful. Demelza?”

“It’s just well...my throat feels a bit funny,” she said and took another drink from her glass. 

He noted some distress as she tried to swallow.

“Demelza?” He moved closer. “Love? What is it?”

“Nothin’...”

“Your neck--you have a rash…” he said, lifting up her hair to better examine the red blotches forming on her skin. 

“I do? Oh thank god!” she laughed.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“I mean if it looks like hives then I know what this is. Tell me, did they have prawns on the menu at the chicken shop?”

“Yes…”

“They probably fry the chicken and the prawns together or there’s at least some sort of cross contamination. I’ve an allergy to prawns. This has happened to me before,” she explained.

“Good god!” He leapt to his feet in a panic.

“It’s not fatal, Ross. I can breathe, it’s not like I’m goin’ into anaphylaxis.”

“Are you sure? You said your throat was swollen.” He pulled out his mobile. “We should ring Dwight!”

“Ross, stop! Calm down. I just need some Benadryl, and I know we’ve some downstairs.”

“Then come, let’s go!”

“No, Ross. I’m not goin’ to spoil this moment for us. Never mind the chicken, we’re together and we’ve still more wine,” she said but he saw she surreptitiously wiped the chicken grease from the rim of her glass before she took another sip. 

“I can’t lose you!” he blurted out. “I’m sorry, I can’t watch you suffer again. I just can’t.” He took a few nervous paces then returned to her side on the blanket.

“Ross, darlin’! You can’t freak out everytime I get a papercut or stub my toe.”

“This is hardly the same thing…”

“We are hostages to our fate. You and me--all of us. Who knows what’s waitin’ for us, _if_ we’re lucky! There will be other times when I’m sick or hurt. You too. We need to accept that in any human future there will be pain-- sprained ankles or childbirth or root canal treatments…”

Now it looked like Ross had gone into shock. Yes, so many worries--and that was _if_ they were lucky to have a future.

“Whoa, that upset you. Bad examples,” she tried to laugh. “Don’t worry Ross, I have exceptional teeth.”

“Demelza…”

“Ross, love, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ll be fine, trust me. And before you say anythin’, our picnic is _not_ ruined.”

“Why is that?” he asked, trying to calm his beating heart and racing thoughts.

“Because I won’t let it be,” she smiled.

“After all these weeks together, I never thought to ask you about food allergies…” He hung his head--he just couldn't let this go.

“Well there’s loads of things we never talked about, isn’t there, Ross? You know that,” she said as if she’d been able to read his thoughts this past week. Or maybe she was just of the same mind. “And to be fair I never asked you either. So tell me, have you any allergies?”

“I’m allergic to cats--mildly so,” he said, trying to sound steady or at least less panicked. “It never actually stopped my father from keeping them around the place though.”

“Cats? Oh that’s too bad,” she frowned. “I’d have liked to adopt one with you. I read that the lockdown has been great for animal shelters. Maybe a dog then. Or do you think it’s cruel to keep a dog in a highrise flat?”

“Demelza? Does this mean you’ve agreed...you’re moving in here? With me? Permanently?”

“Of course. I thought we settled that days ago?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s actually a bandoneon not an accordion that Astor Piazzolla plays in “Libertango” (apparently that’s a bit more like a concertina). Listen to this beautiful gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIN3IE3DHqc
> 
> No doubt Ross’s discovery of the rash on Demelza’s neck was familiar to readers. My humble gratitude to Debbie Horsfield’s script from Poldark S1.8 for that staging. Also the line “We are hostages to fate,” well, that’s from _The Black Moon: A Novel of Cornwall 1794-1795_ by Winston Graham. ('Just by living we are all –what you call it–hostages to fate'”) As always, borrowed with love and admiration for his glorious writing of these characters.


	33. A Changed World

May continued to be an exceptionally beautiful month, even if there were limits to how much anyone could enjoy the outdoors. The relentless rain seemed to be behind them, and each day was sunnier and warmer than the last. In fact, it started to feel very much like summer. Inside the flat, Ross and Demelza found they needed to open the windows and switch on the fans soon after they woke up lest the place get too stuffy.

And since the weather no longer provided any excuses to stay in, they finally began venturing out. Short walks at first, then after a few days, Demelza grew more comfortable going further afield. Still, she quietly insisted they pinpoint their final destination and map an exact route before they stepped over the threshold, leaving nothing to chance. Ross didn’t tease her about this peculiar ritual and instead recognised it for what it was: her attempt to maintain a sense of control in the face of uncertainty. There would be a day they’d wander aimlessly through the city again, but now was not the time.

Even on their short jaunts, Ross found it felt good to stretch his legs and use muscles that had been dormant for months. He’d have liked a jog but didn't dare broach the topic with Demelza. Not yet. She wasn’t ready for rigorous exercise and he didn’t want her to have to admit it aloud, nor would he consider leaving her behind, as she’d no doubt insist were he even to mention it.

 _Why dwell on a minor disappointment, when we have so much to be thankful for?_

Every day cups of coffee were lingered over, kisses doled out, hugs given freely. The little comforts they offered one another added up, like precious beads on a string, and helped to fortify them against the inconstant world around them. 

_She’s having an effect on me_ , he laughed lightly when such thoughts occurred to him.

And when they did walk hand in hand along the road, Ross found himself filled with a bizarre sense of pride. They were part of a privileged class, those who shared a residence with another person and were allowed to clump together _publicly_ , closer than two meters. Ross and Demelza weren’t the only ones who flaunted their nearness. They seemed to frequently pass other couples and small families along the pavement and in the parks. Were there truly more out now or had they just never noticed? Most days there were only inches between him and Demelza. Anyone who saw them would recognise it--they were a bonded pair.

Their facial masks had also changed with the seasons. Pinstripes in soft colours, bright madras plaids, delicate florals, all washable cotton and more comfortable to wear for longer stretches than the ones they'd made do with in April. That a more attractive selection was available was a mixed signal. On the one hand it suggested production and supply lines were returning to normal, on the other hand it meant masks were now normal, and would be a part of their lives for some time to come.

“We’ve come a long way from the first ones we made from old socks,” Ross observed. “I don't miss those.”

“I don’t miss havin’ to wear a mask with you,” she said quickly. 

He kissed her exposed mouth then ran a finger tenderly along her lips until a smile curled in the corners.

“The disposable ones weren’t so bad but you’ll find these are better.” Demelza continued to smile but this time with pride--she’d ordered this batch of reusable masks after hours of online research. “I was lookin’ for effective--and the right fit--but I also really wanted them to be cheerful. I mean, as cheerin’ as a mask worn to prevent the spread of infectious disease can actually be.”

“I trust you completely,” he said. “And it's only fair you chose our masks since I chose our new sheets.”

“Did you, Ross?” She raised a brow and fought to contain a smirk. Clearly she recalled that exchange a bit differently than he did. But perhaps her new interest in pretty masks was a marker that her anxieties about leaving the flat were really fading.

“It's not a real fear,” she’d tried to explain to him. “I mean with irrational anxieties...it's not the thing itself that you're afraid of, is it? More like the build up surroundin’ it--it's as though I’m afraid of the fear itself….does that make sense?”

“It does. One step at a time, Demelza. No rush and no pressure,” he said then held a pink and grey floral mask to his face. “Does this work with my beard?”

“You always look handsome, Ross, even in a sock! You know, if I had a sewing machine I could make masks from your old shirts, then you’d have ones that were ‘business attire’,” she said. 

“These are perfect--I have no complaints. Besides business meetings are one place I don’t have to wear a mask since they are all virtual now. But if you really want a sewing machine, just say the word, and I'll buy you one.”

“And exactly where would we put it? Ross Poldark, there’s simply no room in this flat for anythin’ else!” she said emphatically.

That had been another big change.

The last Saturday in May, they’d taken Ross’s car from the garage and made their way across town to the flat Demelza had once shared with Keren. She didn’t really have that many possessions--she’d been upfront about that--still her meager belongings had completely filled the backseat and the boot of the little Prius. 

Now bin bags of clothes and boxes of books were everywhere in the flat, awaiting a good sorting. It was the least tidy the place had been in months, but the sight of this new jumble warmed Ross. 

“What was it you said about my taste back in March?” he teased. “That it looked as though no one really lived here at all, like a sterile, corporate let? Well, no one could think that now.”

“I’m sorry, Ross. As happy as I am to wear my favourite trainers again and have more than one change of clothes, I can see it was a mistake to bring it _all_ here. I’ll never wear half these things again,” she lamented, tossing a sequined top into a growing mountain on the floor.

“Why not? We’ll go out again--some day,” he tried to reassure her.

“And books are the worst,” she went on.“The ones I need for school I don’t necessarily _want_. And the ones I want, well, I’ve already read most of them so why keep them? Then there are those I intend to read but still haven’t...it’s hopeless,” she sighed.

“I do have a small lockup in the garage,” Ross reminded her. “It’s almost completely empty save a few of my father’s things. But we can easily move some of my books and my clothes down there to make room for yours.”

“Oh Ross, I can’t displace you in your own home!” she cried.

“It’s our home and in order for it _truly_ to be that way, we have to remake it together. Not just fit you in around me,” he said.

“I love you, Ross, you’re always thinkin’ of me,” she said softly. “I just wish I had things that were of use to us both, but I can’t see anythin’ of mine you’d want.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” He laughed and held up her leather jacket for closer examination. 

“Sadly a bit small for you.” Her eyes sparkled and her mood shifted at once; she seemed to appreciate his attempt at levity.

“Too bad--it’s very Joan Jett. You know, Demelza, I never saw you as the leather jacket type.”

“There’s loads about me you’ve yet to learn, Poldark--you’d be surprised. And it so happens I rather like wearing leather.” Her tongue peeked out between her teeth as she slowly drew out her words. Then she bit her lower lip--a provocative gesture she’d already learned would bring Ross to his knees. 

“Is that so?” he asked.

“But maybe you’d look better in sequins?” Now it was her turn to jest.

“Come, let’s go hang your picture,” he said, offering her a hand.

One thing Demelza had proudly brought from her flat was a print by an Irish artist, Micheal Healy, that went quite well with the minimalist style of Ross’s decor. It was a watercolor, a sketch really, with broad fields of colour and simple graphite lines, framed in pale wood.

“Maybe the only adult things I own,” she laughed while tossing her stuffed dog on their unmade bed.

“I like Gareth, he said.

“ _Garrick_ ,” she gently corrected him. “No, let's not hang it in here--the only wall space is above the bed and well, I rarely ever stand lookin’ at the bed. I’d rather be in it.”

“The living room?”

“No, not there either. I rather like the Wheal Leisure map by itself. Addin’ this will make the room look cluttered.”

“As you wish, I am your humble servant.” Ross may have teased but he was touched by the careful consideration she brought to this endeavour. 

Finally they decided on a prominent spot in the hallway so it was the first thing one would see upon entering the flat.

“Is it centered enough? That's not too high, is it?” she fretted.

“Looks perfect,” Ross declared and wrapped his arm gently around her neck, pulling her close so he might kiss the top of her head.

“Well, we’ve still more to do here, Ross. But...it’s a start,” she agreed and leaned against him.

“Welcome home, Demelza.” 

\---

Ross found work had changed too--and not for the better. As economic panic eclipsed public health in the global spotlight, the goodwill and concern for one another's well-being, the gentle urging to take time for family and “self-care” that had been the message the past few months seemed to disappear overnight. Regular business expectations and competitive pressures returned, even though the world around them hadn’t really changed. No one had returned to their offices yet--of those fortunate enough to still have jobs--but since people had nowhere to go, the assumption was one would always be available for a meeting, a phone call, an email. No matter the time, no matter the day. Work had quietly slipped into all the empty spaces of personal life, like water filling a jar of sand.

This sudden shift in demands felt disconcerting to Ross, even though for years, his life had consisted of nothing but his work. He’d changed. Now he had something else-- _someone else_ \--important to capture his attention and he resented the uptick in his contact time with anyone who wasn’t her.

“At least you’re not alone and have some extra assistance,” Demelza had tried to soothe his agitation.

“Good god yes, and I’m grateful for all you do,” Ross said in return and took her hand in his. He meant it--she’d been a tremendous boon not just to him but to his colleagues from the office as well.

And despite everything, his business was doing well. Or maybe it was precisely because of the uncertain times that Grace Energy had acquired its edge.

“It's a good time for solar. Demands are higher than ever. Everyone is playin’ homesteader, livin’ off the land and tryin’ to shake any fuel dependencies for fear of shortages. You predicted this would happen, Ross,” his Contracts Manager, Zacky, had reminded them in a morning briefing earlier that week.

“Did he?” Demelza asked, unable to contain a proud smile. 

“Indeed. I believe his exact words were ‘in unstable times, renewable energy will thrive’,” Zacky purposefully took on a dark, gravely voice in imitation of Ross.“That’s our Poldark, always eagerly lookin’ ahead to the next disaster.”

“It was a very hypothetical projection that I’d posed, not an actual business strategy,” Ross grumbled. “And besides, it’s too early to be breaking out the champagne, given the logistical challenges for new projects—delays in construction, delays in approvals, supply chain challenges, higher financing costs…”

“Well maybe no champagne but I’d say maybe an extra latte is well deserved,” countered his colleague. Henshawe, raising his paper Costa cup. That he’d gone out that morning to fetch one before the meeting was a marker of how far they’d come.

Ross saw what they all were doing, trying to keep morale up, even if he--Ross--was the butt of the joke. He gave a weak smile.

“Alright, I’ve got a call with the Croatians tomorrow morning. I’ll need Zacky for that, but the rest of you, no work this weekend. We can pick anything up again on Monday. And I mean that. Don’t make me check your phone records.” Ross tried to laugh and it sounded mostly convincing.

“I’m proud of you, Ross,” Demelza said after he’d ended the meeting.

“What? Why?”

“You care for people--not just about money and profits. You’re well...you’re a real leader.”

“I’m not sure what I’m leading us all to...” He protested out of habit though inwardly tried to accept her compliment. He could hear the warmth and love behind it, “But thank you. And in case you didn't know, I’m terrified. Scared that I’ll lead these folks astray, drive Grace into the ground…”

“Ross, love, I know. There is just so much to worry about. And so little to be sure of…” She leaned her head on his shoulder and in that moment he was aware of her partnership in it all. His failings would also be felt by her. 

Another way the world had changed--this time thanks to her. Stakes were higher now and any losses would be more painful. And yet he wouldn’t trade places with his earlier self for a life that was solitary and free--an empty. What he had now--a shared love--was far more precious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the print I was thinking Demelza had brought from her flat. It’s called “A Man with Red-haired Girl”.  
> http://onlinecollection.nationalgallery.ie/objects/9516/a-man-with-a-redhaired-girl?ctx=0310e08f-9906-47b0-b7c5-0d96caf59282&idx=132
> 
> Thanks to Financial Times for confirming my hunches re the increased demands for solar https://www.ft.com/content/78108d3a-d046-4916-858a-a5df090ce8c3
> 
> Ross pondering how the world is different now that he has love in his life, is borrowed from two classic Poldark moments. Debbie Horsfield’s ‘Resurgam’ scene in S1.5 (“You were right. The world is a harder place now, thanks to Julia. Stakes are higher, losses more painful. Yet I would not change places with him. My life is more precious for being less certain, and richer for being poorer.”) and also the last page of Winston Graham’s _Jeremy Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall 1790-1791_ (“He realised that all the struggle and anxiety of the next few months would not be his alone. She would bear her share of the burden. She was bearing it already. He went in to join her.”)
> 
> I humbly offer bottomless gratitude to DH and WG for these lines of beauty!


	34. Day Drinking

“Mmm…what...” Demelza murmured. “Ross, do you hear that?”

“Sounds like...is that a car alarm?” Ross opened his eyes and listened as the pulsing siren started to fade into the distance. Once car horns and all manner of sirens had been such familiar sounds in the city, but it had been months since he’d heard one.

“I didn’t know your neighbourhood was so bustlin’,” she said and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep.

“ _Our_ neighbourhood,” he corrected her, tracing his finger down her back. “It just seems louder now that we’ve left the windows open.” He wondered if it was more than that--perhaps they could expect a return to regular city traffic as folks emerged from hiding.

“Even if it's noisy, I do wish these windows would open more than just a few inches,” she said. “But I suppose that’s high rise livin’ and I’d better get used to it. Well, I’m awake now. I’ll go make some coffee.” Demelza threw back the bedclothes to expose her bare skin then exhaled with relief.

“Don’t tell me after weeks of fighting me for covers, you’re _finally_ too warm,” Ross laughed.

“No...but maybe we should use a lighter blanket or even just the sheet if things continue this way?” she suggested.

 _“This way_?” he questioned. “You mean _hot_?” He rolled over and pressed his warm body against hers.

“Ross, love, you’re a bit sweaty,” she said with a giggle and a gentle pat, then abruptly jumped to her feet. She pulled on one of Ross’s t-shirts from the floor after giving it a brief sniff, then rifled through the mountain of unfolded laundry for clean underwear. “It’s a shame...” she continued.

“It’s a shame to cover up that bottom,” he interrupted and reached for her but she was just out of reach. 

“Oh Poldark, so close!” she teased, pulling the shirt down to cover the exposed regions he so enjoyed exploring. “I was goin’ to say, if you’re listenin’ to me…”

“I’m all ears,” he said watching her move.

“It’s a shame to have wasted so many rainy days--I mean all those weeks in April we had endless cold, rainy mornin’s and nothin’ to do all day, yet we couldn’t cuddle together in bed. Now we can be together and it’s so damn warm!”

“I can promise you there will be more rain in our future, Demelza.” 

“I’m not so sure. Ross, the forecast is lookin’ pretty bright…”

“Put on the blue pants…” he interrupted her. “I like those.” It was almost a growl.

“As you wish, Ross.” Locking eyes with his, she dangled the lacy panties from her forefinger. Slowly she slipped into them, pulling them up over her legs with the flourish and tease of a burlesque performer. Then she wrapped her arms across her middle and swayed back and forth a moment before giving one final thrust of her hip. “I have it backwards--I should be strippin’ not gettin’ dressed.”

“No, that’s my job later,” Ross said. “To undress you after a long day's work.” 

"Oh?” she said and stepped closer to him. This time she allowed the back of his hand to graze leg, first her outer thigh and then the inner. She closed her eyes and her knees trembled, moved by his touch. 

Taking advantage of the situation, he grabbed just her fingers, pulled her down to him for a kiss. At once his hands went to work rolling her t-shirt up to expose her smooth belly.

“Mmm…” she purred as his lips met her navel. She finished the task of removing her top and tossed it back to the floor. “Ross..." She guided his open mouth up her torso.

“Put the bra on too,” he whispered into her dewy skin.

“The matchin’ blue one?” She sounded out of breath, caught off guard by her building desire. 

“Yes.” 

Again she rose and he watched, mesmerised, as she retrieved the requested garment from a drawer and then began to put it on. The bra was a dusky French blue, edged in silver-grey lace, soft and stretchy as it cradled the weight of her round flesh.

“Allow me.” He gingerly fastened it at the back for her while she perched at the edge of the bed. When he was done, he stroked her shoulder, then undid her ponytail so her hair fell down in cascades. He turned her to face him.

“Demelza…” he groaned, almost unable to speak. His hands were across her back and in her hair, pulling her towards him.

\---

“Oh now who’s the one eager to get movin’?” Demelza shook her head in mock disappointment as Ross rose to his feet and began to pull on his own trousers. 

“An hour ago you said I was too sweaty.” He winked, then tossed the blue bra to her to put on yet again.

“If I put this back one will you take it off me once more?” she smiled. 

“I just might,” he laughed.

“I thought you preferred the black silk one,” Demelza said.

“That was before I saw the blue on you. But they both are lovely. I never properly thanked you, you know,” he said. “For the lingerie surprise.”

“Nor did I you--for pretendin’ to be surprised,” she said. “Oh Ross, I know you’d seen them before I ever put them on. We can’t really keep secrets from each other in this flat.”

“I thought I had a better game face. Still my response in the moment, when I first saw them on you, was genuine.”

“There are some things you’ve never been able to hide,” she giggled and eyed his crotch just as he pulled up his zipper.

“As much as I love you in anything you wear--or don’t wear--that you bought them was a loving and thoughtful act--for us both. And at a time when we were pretty fraught with frustration, to have that unwavering hope…” He sat next to her on the bed.

“Yes, it was about hopin’ at the time,” she explained. “But now that we _can_ have each other, and since they’re gonna just be taken off anyway, well...you don't think it's silly to dress up in sexy underwear?” 

“Silly? Do you not see what they do to me? And then you expect me to concentrate on our work day knowing what’s waiting underneath your seemingly innocent t-shirt and jeans…”

“Good to know,” she quipped. “Next time I’m doin’ a Grace Energy zoom meeting with you, I’ll be sure to wear no underwear at all…”

\-----

“Well, Demelza, it seems we have at least one more friend.” Ross switched off his mobile and plopped next to her on the sofa, patting one of her knees then kissing the other.

“I didn't know we’d been lackin’,” she said coolly without looking up from the book she was examining. Next to her was a stack of four or five others. Ross could tell she’d been intending to “sort” but had instead gotten absorbed in rereading the one she was holding. He also caught the look from the corner of the eye--fleetingly quick, but also unmistakable. She was curious to hear his news, even if she was playing sly.

“We’ve another Happy Hour date. This time with my cousin, Verity.”

“She’s the Poldark you do like, right?” she asked.

“Yes, perhaps the only one, and I think you will too. She’s different from the others.”

“And you, Ross? Is she different from you?” She raised a playful brow.

“Yes but in all the right ways, the ones that matter. Does eleven o’clock work for your busy schedule?”

“Are you callin’ me idle?” Now she put down the book and stared at him.

“Never.” He heard the defensiveness in his voice though he knew she was kidding. This weekend he’d been dragged into work outside of normal business hours, but he’d be damned if he’d allow that to upset her relaxation. Demelza continued to grow stronger every day but his worry hadn’t lessened; if she’d let him, he’d still wait upon her hand and foot.

“Can you call it a proper Happy Hour if it's before noon and on a Sunday? Or is Verity in a different time zone?” she asked.

“No, Portugal’s the same time as us. Okay instead of Happy Hour consider it a brunch date--you know, Bloody Marys, Mimosas...I believe we’ve a bit of orange juice.”

“But no prosecco, no vodka, no tomato juice…” Demelza countered.

“Put something into your coffee then. Whatever you need to feel properly mannered whilst day drinking.”

“Ross!”

“I assure you, love, Verity won’t judge, she isn’t like that.”

Demelza kept her brow arched and her lips twisted for a moment before she shook her head and turned back to her book.

“Yes, Ross,” she said flatly, revealing no feelings about their upcoming date.

Ross paused for a moment to consider. He’d been pleased to set this call up but sensed Demelza wasn’t quite matching his enthusiasm. 

She wasn’t anxious about this, was she?

\---

“Okay, Ross, I’m ready if you're ready,” Demelza called, and appeared at the living room door carefully holding a drinks tray.

“Yes, you are, it seems.“ He rose to help her but couldn’t resist giving her exposed neck a quick peck.

“For you, this is my take on Irish coffee--we had no cream but you had an ancient tin of condensed milk so I improvised,” she explained and handed him a warm mug.

“It looks brilliant--and smells strong!”

“You’ve had an influence on me, Ross.”

“I hope a good one? And what’s that you’ve got for yourself?” he asked, examining the pitcher filled with something a vibrant red that she set before them on the coffee table.

“Sangria--well, sort of. I made it with that dodgy Rioja. Nothin’ some juice and a few bits and bobs of fruit couldn't fix.” She settled next to him on the sofa and poured herself a glassful. “Oh and some brandy, of course.” 

“Of course,” he laughed. “Oh, look, Verity’s on!”

Ross couldn’t help but grin broadly when he saw Verity’s sweet smile on the laptop screen. He turned to Demelza to share his joy, then realised she didn't know Verity as he did. Still, Demelza seemed to register that this was important to Ross and gave him a pat on the leg. 

“Ross! How perfectly lovely to see you!” Verity chirped. “You haven’t been so bearded since uni. Well done!”

Verity looked exceptionally well. Even though she was a few years older than Ross, her round face and pink cheeks always had a youthful glow that made it hard for anyone to guess her age. And unlike many of Ross’s careworn colleagues and mates, Verity appeared bright eyed and well-rested.

“Verity, this is Demelza, my girlfriend,” Ross felt his heart flutter as he said ‘girlfriend’ aloud. He’d certainly thought it before--and said the word to Demelza--but never to another person. Such an emotional response surprised him and it took a moment for him to catch his breath. 

“And Ross’s new _flatmate_ ,” Demelza added. “Hi Verity, I’m happy to meet you.” There was only a flicker of hesitancy, almost undetectable, in her voice. 

Ross noticed her glass was already half-drunk. That might explain her growing courage.

“Oh likewise, my dear! Congratulations, you two, on your big move. Perhaps this year has brought us something good after all!” Verity held a glass aloft to toast the screen. It looked as though she was drinking a nice Portuguese Verde.

“Thank you,” Ross looked away for a moment, aware that he was blushing.

“And Ross tells me soon are to be travelling companions? You're really going to Cornwall? How exciting! Everyone will be so delighted to meet you, Demelza--and of course happy to see you again, Ross.” Verity swallowed, trying to diplomatically cover her near omission. 

Demelza almost spit out her sangria trying to contain a laugh.

“Well don’t say anything yet--I mean to the other Poldarks, I haven't exactly mentioned I’m coming,” Ross said.

“Is that why you’ve grown the beard--as a disguise? Oh cousin, you do realise you’ll have to see them, don't you?” 

“I know but can’t it be on my terms, not theirs?”

“Whatever you say, Ross.” Verity shook her head, containing a snicker. “But the moment you arrive, everyone in the county will know--there’s no keeping secrets with small villages. Not even in this day and age. Especially if Cornwall’s prodigal son returns home with a charming new woman.”

“Yes well…” he grumbled but pulled himself back together. He didn’t want to signal to Demelza that traveling to his ancestral family home would bring any drama or unpleasantness--or that he wouldn’t be proud to show her off to the world. “I’m sorry it can’t be you as well, Verity. I know you’d like to make the trip.”

“I am hopeful that I can soon. Besides I want to be waiting right here the moment Andrew comes home.” 

“Oh such a shame he’s not with you,” Demelza exclaimed. There was no more formality for manners’ sake. Hers was a genuine expression of compassion.

“How sweet of you to say. And I agree. It’s sad to be apart but he’s considered an essential worker.”

“Verity’s husband, Andrew, commands a fleet of lorries,” Ross explained to Demelza.

“And the transport of goods is apparently an international priority, regardless of the goods.” Verity rolled her eyes. “It’s not as though these are shipments of medical supplies or even toilet paper! Just regular household consumerism. Heaven forbid, if we have to wait too long for a new pair of trainers or some high-end mascara, there might be mass panic.” 

“Apparently it’s tequila and bedsheets that have been the most purchased items during lockdown,” Demelza said.

“Inspired combination,” Ross observed.

“Oh I’m doin’ it again, aren’t I?” Demelza sighed. “Borin’ everyone with what I read…”

“Don’t ever stop,” Ross whispered encouragingly then he turned back to the screen. “I count on Demelza to keep me well informed on news from the outside world,” he said proudly.

“How wonderful,” Verity said, and for a moment Ross felt as though she was really looking straight at him. She was happy for him.

“Well…” Demelza began, a bit embarrassed, but then saw that Verity was being sincere. “But, Verity, you and Andrew will join us in Cornwall as soon as you can, won’t you?”

“We will. I’m hoping for July.”

“You can stay with us if you’d like,” Demelza said eagerly. “Isn’t there room, Ross?”

“There is and you are always welcome. But won’t you be missed by the other Poldarks if you hide at Nampara?” Ross raised a brow but didn’t say more.

“Perhaps. I just had a zoom with the Cornwall crowd last Monday. Elizabeth and Agatha anyway. They are well-- _all_ the Poldarks are well.” Verity looked uncomfortable for a moment then gave a nervous smile.

“Is Francis...not at home?” Ross asked tentatively. 

Francis, Verity’s brother, would definitely not be considered an essential worker. In fact his uselessness was something their late father, Ross’s uncle Charles, had liked to point out frequently and publicly. Still, ignoring a national lockdown protocol didn't really seem like something Francis would do. No, his transgressions were more personal--he’d be happy to silently wound the others around him--or himself--but he’d never break an actual law.

“Oh Francis was home but...erm…’otherwise engaged’. He was playing cards with George Warleggan and some of their mates.” Verity took what looked like a long draught of wine. “Not in person, of course,” she added quickly.

“I didn’t know he still did that,” Ross said.

“Is it hard to play cards online?” Demelza asked. “I mean, can you properly read everyone’s body language and poker faces?” She tucked her feet under her and took another sip from her glass.

Ross enjoyed watching Demelza relax as the call went on. Perhaps it was the sangria or maybe it was her innate ability to read others. Verity was yet another someone from Ross’s world she’d never met before and once again, she’d thrown herself into the conversation and was a triumph. He rubbed her arm affectionately, only barely aware he was doing it--touching her had quickly become an ingrained habit. She responded by shuffling closer to him while still managing to sit upright. 

“It seems anything can be done through zoom,” Verity said flatly. Ross caught the tension--what she didn't say, and hoped that Francis hadn’t been gambling again. 

Years before, Francis had found himself in a spot of trouble and only recently had he got himself and the family business back on track. Ross wasn’t sure, however, that Francis had ever managed to get his marriage back on track.

“Elizabeth seemed like she was bearing up well,” Verity continued. “She looked amazing--I believe she said she was following the keto diet.”

“Oh. I’ve read about that one. So it really works, huh? I could never give up carbs or half the other foods you’re supposed to avoid. Or the alcohol!” Demelza said, then refilled her glass to drive her point home. “You’d be fine, Ross. Whisky is allowed.” 

“Are you saying I need to lose weight?” he asked, pretending to be hurt but glad to have the subject move away from Elizabeth. He wondered if Demelza bristled thinking about Ross’s ex in the same way he did thinking about hers. If she did, there was no sign on her face.

“No, never, Ross. My only joy in life is feedin’ you so please do not deny me that.”

 _Only joy?_ Ross thought but didn’t say aloud, checking himself. It wouldn’t do to make sex jokes now. Demelza had been right to be thoughtful with Dwight and Caroline, they’d need to be respectful of Verity’s loneliness too.

“You _both_ look very well,” Verity noted. “You'd never know you’d be inside for months on end or that...that you’d been ill, Demelza. I hope you don’t mind that I brought it up.” She bit her lip anxiously.

“No, of course not!” Demelza’s genuine smile reassured her at once. “As much as it is somethin’ I’d like to forget, it was very real and we need to speak it to remind ourselves of the dangers. If you don’t actually see it happenin’, you can almost believe it doesn’t exist.”

Demelza seemed relieved to talk about it. Ross recalled what she’d recently said to him--that whenever she brought up her illness, he always changed the subject. Another place to try harder to show her his support. 

“Yes, so very true,” Verity appeared moved by Demelza’s candidness. The two had somehow struck up a friendship, or at least had established a mutual trust, in mere minutes.

 _Of course Demelza knows how to recognise a friend_ , he thought.

“At the end of this we’ll all come out of hidin’ and half of us will have been dietin’ and the other half will have gained a stone,” Demelza laughed.

“And half of us will have learned a new language or learned to juggle,” Verity added. “And half will have found getting out of bed the most valiant accomplishment of all.” 

“I was just readin’ about ‘toxic productivity’--it’s thing!” Demelza said. “But really kudos to everyone, just for bein’! Well, I know I don’t have any regrets.” 

“I admit I have done a lot of baking.” Verity looked sheepish. “Probably because there were loads of other things I was avoiding.”

“Don't tell me you went sourdough?” Ross teased.

“Not me, but before Andrew returned to work, he got quite good at it. Four loaves a week! Such a trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. “But then again, Ross, so is growing a beard.”

\----

“Have you noticed, Ross…” Demelza began then stopped to suck on a booze soaked orange slice. She was leaning against the work surface in the kitchen, perhaps for balance as she was a bit wobbly on her feet. 

Ross smiled and took a sip of sangria from her glass. It was delicious but he knew better than to follow up a whisky drink with wine. He turned on the tap and began to rinse the long forgotten breakfast dishes.

“Leave the washin’ up, Ross. We can do that later,” she said. 

“Finish your sentence and then finish your drink,” he teased and topped off her glass with the remaining sangria before handing it back to her. 

“Oh yes, I was sayin’... ever notice all our conversations lately involve lettin’ others know they look well? We did it with Caroline and Dwight, then again with the folks at Grace, then today with Verity. It’s so...Jane Austen.”

“I suppose historically people were more under threat from disease, like the plague,“ he said.

“And the pox,” she added. “Oh yes, and TB!”

“Or influenza. The list goes on,” he said. “It was on everyone’s mind. Such greetings were probably much more common.”

“And comfortin’, if truly meant. Then after a while they become a formality, a habit.”

“We’ve been privileged this past century to be able to put illness mostly out of our minds.”

“Or at least out of sight. I mean we go off privately to hospital wards to die--we just don’t see it, do we? Ross, I meant to ask you, who is George Warleggan?” she asked. This time it was she that steered the conversation away from illness. 

Ross laughed. It didn’t seem to be avoidance of a touchy subject or mental fog impairing her focus, but sangria-inspired tipsiness.

“Speaking of privileged…” he replied.

“Is he someone special?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you winced when he was mentioned and even Verity sounded like she wanted to rinse the name from her mouth as soon as she’d said it,” Demelza said.

“You continue to show how very perceptive you are, my love. He is not anyone special--in fact he is a rather loathsome man with whom Francis and I went to school. I haven’t seen him for years but he lives close to the Poldarks, and it sounds as though he and Francis have been thick for sometime now. I find him dull and judgmental and only interested in money and status.”

“He sounds like a charmer,” she said. “Let’s try not to have a zoom date with him, hmm?” She kissed him softly and he rightfully took the hint to leave George Warleggan behind. 

“My love, maybe you’d do well to have some lunch or even lie down,” Ross chuckled, steadying her with his arm under hers.

“Ah Poldark...now who’s the perceptive one?” she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make up the tequila and bedsheets statistic!  
> https://www.bbc.com/news/business-52561241
> 
> Don’t fall prey to others’ toxic productivity, my friends. You do what you can and that’s enough. So no, in all my months at home I did not repaint the hallway nor sort the linen closet. But I think I’m okay with that. Read more about this here:
> 
> https://www.thequint.com/lifestyle/life/toxic-productivity-avoid-during-covid-19-lockdown


	35. Big and Little Things

“ _When I met you in the restaurant, you could tell I was no debutante_ … _”_ Ross sang in his best Debbie Harry impersonation, mildly relieved that Demelza was not around to hear him slaughter one of her favourite songs. He slipped one more pair of woolen trousers into the bag of clothing to be given away, then lingered over the pile of checked shirts. Was he truly ready to shed those?

He and Demelza weren’t really trying to merge two full households, more like one and a half, but they were finding shared closet space a particular challenge in the new arrangement. 

“It’s a far easier problem to solve than our books!” Demelza had announced and got to work. She’d decisively--almost ruthlessly--cut her wardrobe in half and Ross knew he really should follow her lead. 

Office attire was easiest to part with since none held any sentimental value for him. Once he began to purge those items, he realised he’d collected far too many smart suits, shirts, shoes, and trousers over the years. Perhaps he’d felt compelled to dress for the role of a successful businessman to better convince himself he was satisfied with that lifestyle. But he’d since found other more important things in his life to truly satisfy him. And after thirteen weeks of wearing track pants, pajamas bottoms, and occasionally jeans--for ‘dress up’ Demelza had teased--he wasn’t sure he’d ever care about superficial appearances again. Now three big bags were stuffed with work things, ready to go. 

It felt good; so why was he hesitating with these flannel shirts? 

On the one hand, they were old and he hadn't really touched them in years, so it should have been easy to give them up. But they were favourites, which explained why they were so worn and soft, and they might come in handy in the countryside in the weeks ahead. 

Well, there was no reason to save all of them--maybe just the red one. Or the blue. He should ask Demelza, which she preferred. Perhaps to be safe, he’d better keep them both.

Just then he heard the scraping of a key in the lock followed by someone half grumbling, half laughing in the hallway outside the flat.

“Fucking hell…” A soft voice giggled, keys jangled again, something heavy thumped to the floor.

“My love?” Ross called. “I’m coming. I’ll get the…”

When he jerked the door open, Demelza looked surprised but only so a moment. She smiled a wicked grin--or perhaps a guilty one--then bent over to pick up the box at her feet. 

“Oh Ross, so sweet! Always at my rescue, aren’t you?” she beamed then thrust a massive box at him to hold.

“What’s this? I thought you were only going for milk?” He refrained from adding “I was starting to worry.” No point in _reminding_ her to be anxious since she seemed to have fared just fine on her first solo outing--at least that’s what he got from his two second appraisal of her. If she’d gotten distracted and wandered a bit off her intended route that could only be a good thing.

Ross stepped forward to give her a kiss but she nimbly slipped past him.

“Let me wash my hands first,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom. 

They no longer wiped down all the surfaces--door handle, keys, groceries--after being out which thankfully meant the flat no longer stank quite so strongly of bleach. But it was more than just the absence of the offensive smell that was important. This minor change in routine meant that the spectre of contagion no longer followed them into their home and could, at least temporarily, be put out of their minds.

They did however remain fastidious about hand washing, even when it was just the two of them, hours on end. Ross waited for her to emerge from the bathroom, imagining she was counting in her head or singing. She was always thorough.

When Demelza returned a minute later, the broad smile was still on her face.

 _A good da_ , he thought, touched by her undisguised happiness.

“Your mission a success?” he asked, placing the box on the kitchen table, chuckling at the unexpected contents peeking out of the top.

“Yes, I got pasta, veg, and some milk--it should be just enough to last us until we leave with nothing left over.”

“This is heavy--you carried it all this way?”

“By my little self, you mean? Yes, I managed just fine, my darlin’, Captain Worrier,” she teased. 

“Demelza, I…” He started to apologise but saw she wasn’t listening.

“Okay, don’t laugh, Ross, but I couldn’t resist.” She held up a small myrtle plant in a mossy terracotta pot. “Isn’t it just gorgeous? And then this one is a swiss cheese plant--well, I admit the blue pot was what attracted me--though it’s likely to outgrow the pot sooner rather than later,” she went on.

“They are very pretty, and if they make you happy, they make me happy…”

“But?”

“But is it...practical to buy houseplants right before we embark on a trip out of town?” he asked tentatively. He didn’t want to rain on her sunny mood.

“We’ll take them with us.” She looked at him as though it was the obvious answer. “What I really wanted were some violets or pansies. I was quite jealous of the folks stockin’ up for their gardens.”

“We can get some once we’re in Cornwall, if you’d like. There’s a whole garden patch next to the house that’s yours for the planting. Whatever you fancy.”

“Really?”

“Really--though it’s long neglected and no doubt will take work.” 

He kissed her forehead which made her smile more brightly but did not still her restlessness. She began moving about the kitchen looking for the right place to set the myrtle.

”So ‘swiss cheese’, you say? I don’t suppose you bought any?” he asked.

“You always seem to be hungry these days, Ross. I wonder if you’re gettin’ anxious about the trip...No worries, I got you some gruyere and a nice baguette. It’s in the carrier bag. The plant’s other name is monstera deliciosa--which I think sounds like a sort of cheese, doesn’t it?” she went on.

“So you enjoyed your outing?” he asked softly.

“I did. The food shops had what we needed and weren't crowded so that went quickly. Then I saw the garden centre--you know how they set out all those flowers on the pavement? We’re just like birds and bees, aren’t we? Drawn to their pretty colours and smells. Anyway it was...well, I don’t know to explain...cathartic? Maybe that’s too strong a word. But it was brilliant--I found myself standin’ amongst all these plants and just started sobbin’...”

“Demelza?” he stepped closer and gently touched her arm.

“No, it was a good cry. A release, a relief, really. Like I was moved--happy.” She looked up at him and he saw she was telling the truth. She was happier and lighter. “I think maybe it was the music they were playin’--some cheesy Elton John song, not even a good one--but I just felt like I’d been holdin’ so much in for so long and I just needed to...let my spirit soar.”

“Soar? To Elton John?” he took a chance and teased.

“Okay, I admit that's overly dramatic. It could have been anythin’ really--the song was the least important part. It was the feelin’ that mattered. Like things were okay or back to normal, which I know they aren’t…”

“Small steps, my love. I think it sounds like a very healthy response. And I love you. And I love our new plants.” He was proud that she'd tackled the major obstacle of going out on her own and hoped it could continue. Would it be easier for her to wander alone in Cornwall, along the sea shore and in the fields? Or would she have to start all over again and build up her resolve and courage anew?

“Besides, when you’re wearin’ a mask, people around you can’t tell if you’re cryin’ or singin’ or swearin’...” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Okay, Ross, while these plants may look cheerful, they also have psychological benefits. Apparently they can improve your mood, reduce stress levels, even result in greater productivity and longer attention span. So the big one is for your home office, Ross. Here or in Cornwall.”

“Are you saying I have big moods so I need a big plant?” he asked playfully.

“Everyone needs oxygen, Ross. Consider it a movin’ in present--me to you.”

“I’ll need to reciprocate,” he said, unloading groceries into the nearly empty refrigerator. Demelza had been very calculating in meal planning these past few days so that nothing would be left to waste when they departed for their trip.

“Oh let’s see, Ross? You’re givin’ me a holiday to the seaside--and space in your closet!”

“ _Our_ closet…”

“I mean I need no gifts. You've given me everythin’...”

“I’ll think of something. Just wait,” he said, accepting the challenge. “Speaking of closets, I hope I made you proud. While you were out, I added more of my things to the bags in the hallway. I thought I’d drop them off at the charity shop this afternoon so they're out of our way while we’re packing.”

“Oh, love--the ones in the hallway were going down to the lock up,” she said gently, and rubbed his arm. It wasn’t quite a patronising gesture but came close. “The ones in _the living room_ are for the charity shops and the ones in the bedroom are to be chucked--that’s mostly mine, no one would want that rubbish...at least I don’t think anyone would.”

“I think I got that exactly backwards,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I guess we’ll have to start all over,” she said, 

“Of course..I remember now. You told me this yesterday…”

“It’s no big deal. I wasn’t sure of some of the items I was keepin’ so a second look through everything won’t hurt.” 

He listened closely to her words but he heard no trace of annoyance or anger in her voice. More than once she’d teased him they needed more quarrels but it had become a matter of pride between them that they did not get irritable with each other. At least not so far, after thirteen and a half weeks. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so preoccupied with Grace business these last days and left this whole endeavour to you alone.”

“And soon enough you’ll be leavin’ Grace behind--or sort of anyway--when we go on our holiday,” she said. “Zacky promised he won’t ring you or even email you for one full week, no matter what. After that you can go back to zoomin’ but then it will be from your Cornish estate.”

“It’s hardly an estate.”

“Does it have more than one bedroom? More than one cupboard? Then I say it’s palatial! Ross? Are you alright? Oh, I’m not really complainin’ about the flat...you know I love it here….”

“I know that. It’s just, I don't want you to think I don't listen to you…” he said.

“Are you kiddin’ me, Ross? You do nothin’ but listen to me…and have done nothin’ but for weeks on end! What does a bin bag of old clothes even matter? You’re attentive to the big things--and even the little things, at least when it comes to me.”

“I believe we’ve had this conversation before, up on the roof, when I almost killed you with prawns,” he said.

“No, that time wasn’t about listenin’ but about askin’...and see? Even since then, you’ve _listened_ and earned loads of little things--like that I’m allergic to prawns…”

“That’s not little, Demelza.”

“What I’m sayin’ is, I’m impressed by how many little things you know. Take my shoe size--I mean, what if we went bowlin’? You’d need to know it then. Are alleys open again?”

“You wear a seven,” he said proudly. 

“Very good. But this isn’t a test. You know big things too--like that I was anxious to go out on my own today. And that I’ll get my period next week...okay that’s not big, maybe medium. Okay, back to little, you know my favourite ice cream…”

“Ice cream? Oh that _is_ a test--because you freakishly don’t like ice cream.” Ross still had a hard time believing that one.

“I just find it too creamy. How is that supposed to be refreshin’?” She defended this quirk with dismissive tut. “Whereas you, Ross, will eat any flavour of ice cream whatsoever. We’ll be sure to get you some in Cornwall,” she smiled. “You know, there’s probably some hipster makin’ pilchard ice cream these days…”

“There probably is,” he laughed.

“See, Ross? It’s like we’ve been together for years.”

“We sort of have,” he agreed.

“You mean because we keep havin’ the same conversation?”

“No, I mean if you add up our hours together, then compare them to an average dating couple in normal times…”

“Average? Normal? Sounds borin’....and absolutely lovely too,” she exclaimed. “Wait, are you sayin’ you’re sick of me after only a few weeks?” She winked, knowing she was provoking him.

“On the contrary. It’s rather remarkable when you start to do the math...We’ve been together on average 16 hours a day. If you take out 8 hours for sleeping. Over 13 weeks that adds up to quite a bit.”

“I’m sure it does.” She laughed again--this time lightly as though she was amused by him, then she shook her head, a gesture he’d come to understand as her signal that it was time to get back to work. “Okay, Ross, do you want to help me sort these bags of clothes again or do you want to start lunch?”

“I’ll cook, you sort. But do it from the hallway so you can talk to me and keep me company,” he suggested. 

“A fair and reasonable proposal. But fix yourself a little snack first, love. I saw you eyeing that cheese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stray bits and bobs humbly borrowed (with love) from the Debbie Horsfield Poldark scripts (“I need no gifts, Ross…”)  
> Lyrics quote from the “Dreaming” by Blondie (1979). Songwriters: Chris Stein / Deborah Harry. Lyrics ©Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management  
> Check out this gem here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TU3-lS_Gryk
> 
> More on the benefits of houseplants:  
> https://www.independent.co.uk/extras/indybest/house-garden/best-house-plant-indoor-terrarium-glass-a9433321.html
> 
> Lastly, I love this quote from Winston Graham’s _The Millers Dance_ , in which Ross is describing his long time relationship with Demelza. “It has always been a matter of pride between us that we do not get irritable with each other...”


	36. Really Good Hours

“It’s gettin’ late but still so light outside,” Demelza murmured then cuddled closer to Ross in the bed.

“June crept up on us. One day it seemed April would never end, the next we’re almost at the longest day of the year.”

“Mmm...I refuse to believe that’s actually next week.” She was so close now that when she spoke, Ross could feel the vibration of her words in his own jaw bone.

“We can spend the Solstice on the beach if you’d like…” Ross’s fingertips were under her top, gently strumming up and down her breastbone as though he was caressing her heart. It was too warm for any bedclothes yet she was wearing one of Ross’s beloved old flannel shirts, largely unbuttoned--and nothing else.

“Let’s not wish ourselves elsewhere yet. This is our last night here in the flat for some time--we must savour it,” she said softly and ran her lip along his neck until she found just the right spot. Her kiss grew in determination until it almost felt like a nip. But if she left a mark it wouldn’t matter much. They didn't expect to be seeing anyone soon, neither here nor in Cornwall.

“Of course.” He kissed her temple and exhaled trying to catch his breath after an evening’s exertion. “You look good in red, how is that?”

“You mean for a ginger?” she laughed. “Aren’t you goin’ to take this off me too?”

“In due course, in due course. The youth are so impatient…” he teased.

“You know Ross, I think you’re wrong…”

“What?” He moved so his face was level with hers. Her expression suggested she was thinking about something mildly puzzling but maybe not too serious.

“I’m thinkin’ about your calculations earlier and think they’re off a bit.”

“Demelza?” he chuckled. He had no idea what she was referring to, the past hour in their bed seemed to wipe his mind blank of any previous conversations.

“I think, Ross, you overestimated how many hours we’ve been together. I mean many days we slept far more than 8 hours. And when we were awake, most weeks, we weren't always together--I was on one side of the flat and you were on the other,” she continued.

“Oh that. No, I took all that into consideration. And it counts--I could still call to you, hear you, see you,” he explained. “We were still together.”

As he spoke she gently touched her finger to his mouth, his ears, his eyelids. Then she buried her nose in his armpit and let out a squeal of giggles. 

“Um...Carne? What are you doing?”

“Let’s not forget smell...”

“And?”

“Oh, it's rank. I mean you are most foul, Poldark. And I _absolutely_ love it,” she smiled.

“I too am happy your sense of smell has returned but need I remind you of the labour that went into building up all this sweat? I heard no objections at the time,” he said. “I suppose if I searched long enough I might find some delicious stink on your body as well.” He grabbed a handful of her irresistible bottom and rolled her on top of him.

“Ross!” she cried, trying to object to his powerful advances but laughing too hard to make a serious stand.

“Oh you act so demure, as if I’m a stranger still. If I am, I’m a stranger who knows every inch of your skin…even the smelly parts.”

“So you do, Ross,” she said coyly. His naked body twitched under hers and she gave him a decisive squeeze with her thighs before rolling back down on her side. “Okay, so back to our fictitious couple…”

“Fictitious couple?” He laughed, trying to catch up.

“The _average_ one, in _normal_ times...I believe you were tryin’ to make a point about them earlier?”

“So I was. What do you want to know?”

“You’re the one who knows their story, Ross,” she chided. ”So tell me, how do their hours add up?”

“Okay, Let’s see…” he said, willing to play along. “Say they start out slow. Dinner, films, concerts...”

“Dancin’?” she offered.

“Sure but no sleepovers, not the first week anyway.”

“Prude,” she huffed.

“Let’s say five hour dates max,” he went on.

“Five seems a lot for a first date...does she like him?” she asked.

“She does. Okay the first date was shorter. But by the end of the third week together they've only banked approximately 14 hours.”

“Do they know they are _together_ ,” she asked, “or is it still sort of up in the air? A bit one sided maybe?”

“They both know.”

“Are you sure she likes him if she’s only seein’ him once a week?”

“He grows on her,” Ross explained. “My point is, compare that three weeks to you and me--by day _two_ we’d already hit 32 hours.”

“Did you grow on me?” she smiled.

“I should hope so. So let's say things heat up. One month in, he starts staying over each weekend.”

“It’s about time but wait...does this mean we don't go out anymore?”

“Okay you go out, then afterwards he stays over. Just one night not both. Increase contact time but subtract sleeping time. 

“Oh even if we’re sleepin’ there's _contact_...” she said assuredly.

“If you go to bed at say midnight... minus 8 hours of sleep….that’s a total of maybe twelve..."

“How did you get that?” she asked. “We’d be asleep by 3 or 4 on nights we went out, 2 on nights we stay in…”

“Two? You and your youthful exuberance. But you’ll need to sleep in the next day though, so it all washes. Let’s compromise and say 15 hours on weekends.”

“Yes, I suppose. Although 15 seems a bit much, but I guess I won’t kick him out if he stays into Sunday afternoon.”

“How generous of you. And when did this become about you?” he laughed.

“I’m just tryin’ to get inside her head. Go on...tell me, do we go out midweek?”

“Occasionally when he’s not working late.”

“I'm resentful already.”

“He makes it up with lunch.” Ross cautiously looked at her out of the side of his eye to see if this was a reasonable trade off. 

“Which I begrudgingly accept--but I get to choose where. No--I take that back. I don’t want to choose, I want to be surprised.”

“Oh, he knows when he’s in the doghouse and he makes meals out count,” Ross said. “So that’s about...seventeen hours most weeks.”

“Seventeenish,” she nodded. “Give or take a few when I have a headache or need to wash my hair. And what about weekend trips?”

“If you like. Let’s say after three months there’s a weekend trip--remember these are _normal_ times so that’s possible--so that jumps our contact hours up to about 130 hours…”

“You are addin’ too fast, Ross. Are makin’ these numbers up?”

“No--don’t you trust me?”

"I do, I do...but it really took three months before there was a trip?”

“Two months?”

“One. Was it a good trip?”

“You loved it--and he was content to see you so happy. Now six months later, approximately 225 hours in, minus a week you spend away alone with your mates in Spain…”

“Spain?”

“Okay, Paris and while you were gone, he pined terribly….”

“No doubt I pined as well,” she said, gingerly playing with his chest hair as she liked to do. 

“No doubt you did. So then--after six months-- he asks _the_ question.”

“To move in together?” she asked.

“No, to get married.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a question that is ‘popped’, Ross, not asked. Okay, so we’re gettin’ married now?”

“Yes, admittedly it's a little soon but not unheard of. And this is my point--look at the math--six months they’re at 225 hours which is what we logged by week two!”

“I’d say no after six months. It's still too soon.”

“How about a year? If the formula holds then that would be approximately...there were no breaks, were there?”

“Seriously, Ross. Breaks?” She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, one year--that’s 450 hours. Whereas you and I have over 1450!”

“Impressive,” she said coolly.

“You don’t sound impressed,” he laughed.

“Oh I am. But one year is still early...what about two years?”

“So you _would_ marry someone after 2 years—900 hours together? Three years—1350?” Ross asked. “Remember you and I are at 1472.” 

“No, 1470 and a half--I was out for over an hour today. Wait--I thought you said we’re at 1450?”

“I was estimating for the point of this exercise.”

“I don’t know…” she said.

“What if they were really good hours?”

“But it's not just the time logged, is it Ross? It’s the experiences. You need to weather different sorts of experiences together to know if you are still compatible when things change…”

“Experiences? You mean like the ones we’ve shared?”

She raised a brow.

“Oh let’s see, Demelza. I think we’ve had quite a few...” he went on. “Thrown together, perfect strangers in global lockdown. Navigating near starvation…” 

“Ross! We were never starvin’!”

“But we didn't know that. Then you were deathly ill…”

“Again, an exaggeration. I was never _deathly_ ill.”

“And we didn't know that. We’ve had to figure out how to share--space, household duties, even clothes. And we’ve quarreled,” he added proudly.

“Twice. We’ve quarreled twice.”

“Twice? That many?” he asked. “There was the time I went out without you but when was the other?”

“Oh I was cross that one time when you said you didn’t like cats...but I never told you.”

“I said I was mildly allergic, not that I didn't like them,” he corrected her.

“Yes well, it must have been somethin’ else you said that annoyed me but no worries now. Still I do seem to recall you promisin’ me more frequent rows. I’m still waitin’...”

“I’ll try harder,” he said.

“Oh Ross, It’s common for people who’ve gone through an intense excitin’ experience to bond, but what happens afterwards? In the calm?”

“Excitement? Is that what these weeks trapped in our flat together have been? It’s not like we’ve been jumping from helicopters and chasing jewel thieves, Demelza. And afterwards, in the calm, we’ll go about our business of living--cooking meals, clearing up, talking, working and sleeping--just as we have done, darling. So no, I’m not afraid of the calm. But...should I be worried? Didn’t you say you were growing bored?”

“I didn’t say that. In fact I said borin’ sounds brilliant. Anyway, that's not the same as calm. And don’t you need to see me with your mates--or you with mine? To see if we’re still who we are--I mean who we think the other is?”

“My love, I feel confident I know who you are and you know the real me--and for some reason that hasn’t made you bolt out that door!” 

“Well the reason I didn’t bolt was that I had nowhere to go…but minor detail. Now I wouldn’t dare leave you. I love you, Ross.”

“I know you do.” He pulled her close again. “And by the way, I have seen you with my mates--the ones that really count. I know the rest would love you, and as far as yours go, if they make you happy then they make me happy,” Ross went on.

“You won’t like Tess. I can barely stand her,” she said.

“Then I promise I’ll be distant and aloof with her.”

“How did this become about us? What happened to our fictitious couple?” Demelza laughed.

“It seems we left them in the dust. But I don’t believe our fictitious woman would have objected to the idea of getting married. She thought it was about time,” Ross countered.

“Okay, let’s suppose I--real Demelza--were to say yes. It affects others.”

“Like who? Mrs. Whitworth has already moved on. Why shouldn’t you?”

“I meant Prudie. She'd be sad to lose her cleanin’ gig with you.”

“No, Prudie would still be needed so you could concentrate on school full time.”

“Ross, I think we’ve both proven we can handle the housework of the flat together without hirin’ someone to do it for us.”

“Well, whatever you say. You are now mistress of the place. It's your job to take on and discharge servants as you see fit. I thought you’d be tired of cleaning after so many weeks of nothing but.”

“Oh, there’s been more than just cleanin’ all these months, Ross,” she smiled and placed a kiss on his chest. Then she sat up with a start. “Ross? Thank god you wanted it deep!”

“What? I mean I liked everything we’ve been…”

“No, I’m not talkin’ sex,” she laughed, then slapped his belly. “If you hadn’t requested a _deep clean_ , from the service, I would have been done with your flat by the time you came home. We would have never even met.”

“Oh that again. I would have found you, Demelza, we’ve been through this before. But it doesn’t matter because we did meet, and everything else that happened, here in this flat, we made happen. It wasn’t chance or the whims of the gods. It was us deliberately caring for each other and taking the time to learn about each other and…”

“Fallin’ in love? We deliberately fell in love?” she laughed.

“Well we didn’t fight it…” he said.

“What’s the line from _Casablanca_?” she asked. “With the whole world crumblin’ we pick this time to fall in love?”

“No, Demelza, that's precisely why we did. Love is the answer.”

“Yes, Ross. The only answer,” she said and settled against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with the stray bits and bobs humbly/lovingly borrowed from the Debbie Horsfield Poldark scripts (“You are mistress of Nampara, it’s for you to engage your own servants…”) 
> 
> Lastly, I played with this quote from Winston Graham’s _The Angry Tide_ ,  
> “You're right in saying I’m a stranger. But I'm a stranger who knows every inch of your skin.”
> 
> Thanks so much for reading--more soon!


	37. A Fair and Reasonable Proposal

At exactly 9:41 AM on Wednesday, June 17th, Ross pulled the door to the flat shut behind him. His Prius was already loaded--their cases in the boot, the back seat laden with Demelza’s stand mixer, their two new houseplants, and a few boxes, mostly containing books. Inside the flat, the bins had been emptied, the contents of the fridge either chucked or packed, the windows left open just a bit to air the place in their absence. They might be gone a few weeks or a few months but all was in order.

“You ready?” Ross asked Demelza with a playful smile. He knew the answer. 

She was the one out the door first, without so much as a backwards glance. All morning she’d been dancing with anticipation. In fact she’d been up since six, puttering about, wiping down surfaces, straightening, sweeping, even hoovering one last time.

“It's a habit I picked up years ago--to tidy before a trip,” she’d explained. “That way when you come back, even if you’re disappointed your holiday is over, you don’t feel bad about returnin’ to a mess.” She’d practically rolled Ross out of the bed so she could make it up, then changed her mind, stripped the whole thing, and changed the linens altogether.

Now he watched her impatiently call for the lift. She pressed the button once then again a few more times.

“Oh wait! Where are my car keys?” Ross teased, patting his pockets in mock despair.

“Nice try,” she laughed. “Ha ha!” she cried when the lift arrived with a gentle ding. “Here we go!”

\---

Cars had returned to the roads so the first leg of the drive was slower than they had anticipated. Even though they’d deliberately left after the crush of morning traffic, they found themselves crawling and even standing still at times as they headed west out of the city.

“Looks like everyone had the same idea as we did,” Demelza observed.

“On a Wednesday? Damn it!" Ross grumbled when they came across roadworks that threatened to put them further behind. 

“This may not be pleasant, Ross, but we’re in no rush,” Demelza reminded him and put her hand gently on his arm to soothe him. He felt her calm at once and further appreciated when she began quietly searching up alternate routes on her mobile without a fuss.

“Take a right here--if we go north just a bit it adds a few miles out of our way but apparently should save us 15 minutes,” she explained.

Thirty minutes later her research had paid off. Finally they’d left the city behind them and hit the motorway. Ross couldn’t remember the last time he drove using the cruise control, but the steady speed of the car felt good--almost restorative. 

_I just needed to let my spirit soar,_ he recalled Demelza explaining the feeling. _So true_ , he thought.

“Good work there,” he said to her. “Even if I didn’t say it at the time, I’m thankful for the help.” 

_And for your patience with me,_ he thought. He had a vague memory of his parents rowing in the car on holidays. Only then it had been his mum holding a poorly folded map while his father, probably tense about money and being away from home, cursed a blue streak at the other cars.

“Joshua, mind the road, love,” was all Grace would say. Were her teeth clenched? Did she want to deck him for his grumpy mood? No doubt Ross was only making things worse, sitting in the backseat whining for a biscuit or a pee break.

“ _It's not just the time logged, is it Ross? It’s the experiences. You need to weather different sorts of experiences together to know if you are still compatible when things change…_ ” Isn’t that what Demelza had said to him only the night before? Well, certainly here was a new experience for them. So far, they seemed to be managing just fine.

“Demelza?” he said again, then looked over at the passenger seat. Her head rested against the window, her eyes closed her mouth gaping. He smiled--glad to see her dozing even if he missed her company. He switched off the Depeche Mode that had been playing through his mobile but as soon as the car got quiet, she sat up with a jerk.

“I’m awake--I’ve been awake this whole time,” she insisted, wiping her chin of any dribble.

“Of course you have,” he laughed.

She switched the music back on then hummed along as if to demonstrate her alert presence.

“Ross, do you think we’ll need to stop at a services anytime soon?” Demelza said after a while.

“Most likely. This thing is very efficient but not perfect, and I haven’t actually refueled since March...You okay, love?” He noticed a flicker of distress on her face.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine. I just think I had too much wine last night tryin’ to finish off that last bottle...Silly of me, we could have brought it along half drunk. Or maybe I had too much coffee this mornin’? I’m just feelin’ a bit off...I thought maybe I could drive a spell? That helps sometimes with motion sickness.”

“Anytime you want to switch let me know. We don’t need to wait. And it’s not like this is some high end sports car and I’m some sort of dickhead boyfriend who won’t let his woman drive,” Ross said and immediately began to scan the motorway for the next exit.

“You? A dickhead? Never, Ross. But imagine how awful it would have been for us the past 13 weeks if one of us had been mean or insufferable. Ugh…”

“Fourteen. Today is officially fourteen weeks but don’t think about ‘what-ifs’. You weren’t intolerable and I hope I wasn’t mean,” he laughed, then noticed she hadn’t joined in. “If you aren’t feeling well, love, drink some water--in case it’s dehydration. And lower the window. Try breathing slowly.”

 _In case it’s anxiety_ , he didn't say.

“Oh Ross, I’m just hung over, it’s not...I’m not sick again and I’m not havin’ a panic attack. Not today.”

“I’m glad to hear that but if it were the case…”

“I’m sorry, Ross. I don’t mean to make my stupid anxiety your problem,” she sighed.

“If it’s part of you, then we’ll work through it. But it doesn’t bother me, if that's what you’re implying.”

“Oh? It just seems to make _you_ worried,” she said.

“I’m just sometimes surprised--because I don't know if you're anxious unless you tell me. You haven’t had any problems sleeping for weeks…”

“Not since we’ve been together in the bed,” she said. “Though I do get less sleep overall.”

“And most days you hide any anxiety well--you’re so...functional. But from what I read, I know that’s not uncommon.”

“I suppose that’s good? I mean I try not to walk around announcin’ it,” she laughed. “Look at you, Ross! Sharin’ what you read? With me?”

“You’re a good influence on, Demelza.”

“But I do think it’s gettin’ better--the anxiety, that is. Imagine how lovely it will be to spend everyday outside. Surely all that fresh air will help.”

“I’ll pitch a tent in the Nampara garden if you’d like, then you never need to come indoors again until November,” he said. “By the way, you know I’ve never seen you wear a dress before? You look amazing.” 

Demelza was wearing a white linen sundress that hit just at her knees. Earlier she’d had an apple green cardigan over it, but she’d shed that shortly after she announced she was feeling poorly. Now her pretty arms, smooth shoulders, and plunging neckline were exposed. Ross took a quick glance then darted his eyes down to her bare legs.

“Mind the road, Ross,” she laughed. “I suppose it’s been nothing but your pajamas since March. Anyway, I almost gave this one away but I’m glad I kept it in the end. And it was purely a practical decision today--this dress wrinkles so easily and I figured it would get fewer creases if I wore it than if I shoved it in my case.” 

“And I can’t believe you only needed the one bag. I’m impressed with your packing skills,” he added.

“I just know what I want and don't waver…” she said proudly.

“So you do.” Then a thought hit him and he spoke without thinking of how to best craft his words. “Demelza, what if I wasn’t kidding…”

“About…?” She raised a brow and snickered, apparently amused that for once Ross had been the one speaking in half-sentences and non-sequiturs, not her.

“Getting married. Me and you.”

“What, Ross? You’re mad!”

“Never saner,” he said and signaled he was moving into the left exit lane.

“Folks won’t understand. Your friends, your family…” she sputtered.

“Because everything around us is so damn understandable?” he replied. “And I don’t give a toss what anyone else thinks, by the way.”

“Maybe I do? I mean, I don’t want to start a new life with you bein’ the gossip of the county. Though I suppose, if Verity is correct, then most likely I’m already bein’ talked about…” She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him for a moment. 

“Besides, once they meet you they'll understand.” 

They’d reached the slip road and as he slowed down, it suddenly became much more quiet inside the car.

“They’ll say it was just physical--that we were desperate in desperate times,” she said, looking out her window.

“We know otherwise.”

“Or that I’m a gold digger…”

“After my great fortune?” he chuckled. “Have at it, Demelza.”

“Go through the roundabout then take the second left--do you see the Esso station up there?” she directed him then returned without pause to the topic at hand. “Look, Ross, I'm not sayin’ yes but I’m not sayin’ no…”

“Which is as good as yes. And I will accept it. Demelza, why wait for an uncertain future? Hasn’t this whole ordeal taught us to seize the here and now, to clasp firmly to our loved ones while they are with us? Tomorrow doesn’t exist yet--the present, you and me together, us here together, is all we have.” 

“Are those your words or did you read them somewhere?” she asked.

“Why...do you like them?”

“Yes,” she replied. It was a breathy mumble.

“Yes, that you like them or yes, that you will marry me?” he asked as he pulled into the service station.

“Both I suppose.”

Now Ross let out a deep laugh that filled the car. “Granddad, tell us again about you and Nan got engaged? Well, we’d just pulled into a petrol station and I asked her, and she said ‘I suppose’....” he teased.

“Ross! You know that is not the story you will tell!” she exclaimed. 

But then he saw it--a single tear slipping out of her eye that she tried to stealthily wipe away.

“Demelza?” He switched off the engine and looked at her.

She quickly turned her head back to the window and tried to laugh but ended up snorting.

“What’s the true story then?” he asked.

“Well my darlin’,” she began in a sweet voice. “Granddad saved my life and he only fell in love with me because after carin’ for me he had Florence Nightingale Syndrome.”

“No, I was your captor, imprisoning you in my flat and you developed Stockholm Syndrome...” He reached over and took her hand in his.

“How does one even do it?” she snuffled.

“Do what?” he asked softly, sensing he needed to be a bit more tender in the next moment.

“Get married? I mean register offices and churches aren’t exactly open.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m sure it can be done.” 

“Maybe by zoom,” she laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: “I do get less sleep”--another classic line borrowed (with love) from the Debbie Horsfield's Poldark scripts.
> 
> “The past is over, gone. What is to come doesn't exist yet. That's tomorrow! It's only now that can ever be, at any moment. And at this moment, now, we are alive--and together. We can't ask more. There isn't any more to ask.”― Winston Graham, _The Angry Tide_.
> 
> This passage is lovingly referred to and played with over and over in this fic (and will be again--spoilers). Over the past 10 months, we’ve all taken a stern assessment of our understanding of time….
> 
> My greatest hope, dear readers, is that you, as WG says, “are alive and together”. This story isn’t over--the closing chapters coming soon...❤❤❤


	38. Guardians of the Solitude

Ross switched off the quiet engine of the Prius and closed his eyes just for a moment. The windows had already been wound down so they might enjoy fresh air while they drove, but now he breathed deeply. There was nothing in the world like this air. Rich, wet, full of salt and earthy minerals. Fragrant, like some ancient medicinal tonic, but also light and refreshing as it tingled their skin and settled on their lips. 

Cornwall was reclaiming them.

Ross had pulled into an empty car park by the sea, ignoring the SATNAV that told him to head two miles in the opposite direction to go on to Nampara, his family home. Demelza had contributed about three hours of steady and utterly uneventful motorway driving then announced she’d like a nap. Eager to oblige her--and trying to believe there was no cause for worry--Ross took the last leg of the journey, which grew slower as the winding roads led them closer to the coast. 

Demelza had only recently woken up and still bore a sleepy, almost dazed look as she leaned against her headrest, slumped and relaxed. 

“What about a little walk along the shore? Are you up for it?” Ross asked her now. 

He heard the gulls in the distance but didn’t think of them as pests as he did back in the city. This was their natural habitat and anything they wanted along the water’s edge they were more than entitled to. Even their cries seemed softer when buffered by the coastal breezes.

“Ross?” Demelza raised a brow. She could always see through him and must have sensed he had ulterior motives for not heading straight to the house. “What are you not tellin’ me?” she asked.

Ross quickly checked his mobile for any new texts and tried to avoid her eyes. “It’s just we can’t really go to the house until after four-thirty…” he said cryptically. “So if we need to kill a little time, why not go down to the sea?”

“Can’t _really_ go?” she questioned.

“Well, it’s not ready…”

“ _Ready?_ Someone’s still occupyin’ the place?” she asked, still confused.

“No, no one has been in the place all spring. But…”

“But?”

“I’m having it cleaned and she’s run a bit over.”

“ _She?”_

“Sorry, yes, of course. We’ve always called her Mrs.Gimlet but her name is Jane. She cleans the place after holiday makers. She’s worked on and off for the family for years…”

“Oh Ross! I could have done any cleanin’…” Demelza cried, sitting fully upright now. 

“No, you could not,” he said firmly then shook his head and smiled at how predictable she could be. He knew she’d want to take that job on herself which was precisely why he hadn’t mentioned it in advance. He didn’t like to keep secrets from her but had convinced himself this fit more in the category of ‘surprise’ rather than ‘deliberately misleading subterfuge’. But he should have also predicted that she’d somehow drag it out of him. “You’ve never seen spiders like those who’ve taken up residence in an unoccupied stone cottage,” he laughed. 

“I’m not afraid of spiders,” she huffed.

“Of course you’re not. Look, I’m not arguing with you about this, Demelza. If I’m not to work these next days then you aren't either--this is your holiday too.” 

“Well I don’t have to be happy about it.” She may have given a grumbly sigh for appearance’s sake but he sensed she was touched by the gesture. 

Ross sighed hoping she might be receptive to the other surprise he'd planned for her. 

“Why is the carpark so empty on such a gorgeous day?” she then asked. “Is there a riptide or toxic waste or something down there?” 

“Best kept secret in Cornwall,” he said. “Come.”

\--

Ross took Demelza’s hand and led her down the steep slope towards the sea. How long had it been since he’d eagerly dragged a playmate along this same path? Years. But even if the climb was now harder on his joints, he still felt the same youthful excitement.

He paused and turned to look at her, to be sure she remained unscathed by the sharp grass that slapped at their legs. He was wearing jeans but in today’s pretty dress, her exposed skin was at risk.

“Maybe let’s take it a little slower,” he suggested, aware that he was primarily instructing himself to have more care.

His fingers wove tightly into hers until their joined hands were one mound. At points in the descent he took her other hand as well or touched her waist to make sure she remained steady on her feet as they carefully walked the rest of the way down.

He’d never seen her so excited nor so lovely. The fine hairs around her face danced in the gentle breeze and when the wind picked up from time to time, her ponytail whipped around and splayed against her cheek. Each time she laughingly pushed her hair out of eyes without ever letting go of Ross’s hand.

“I wouldn’t have even known there was a path. From the carpark it looked just like a cliff that dropped straight off to the sea,” she said breathlessly, seemingly happy to be caught up in the adventure.

“That’s precisely why it’s never crowded here--the path is well hidden in the dunes. Watch out--the are a few concrete blocks coming up. Use them as steps or you’ll find yourself sliding the rest of the way down on your bottom. Although we used to do that on purpose sometimes, when I was a boy,” he explained.

“Will we be able to get back up?” she asked.

“It seems counterintuitive but it’s actually easier going up. You can lean into the climb and your center of balance helps you stay steady.” 

“Ross! It’s just so beautiful!” she cried as soon as they left the tall grasses and found themselves surrounded by fine, warm sand. Further up the shore to their left was a little cove, and the beach there was rockier, but where they stood all glittered smooth in the sunlight. 

“I can’t believe we are truly here! The actual sea--I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again, my friend!” she sang out to the crystal blue that stretched out in front of them and then met the brilliant sky at some distant horizon. “This colour today--it's like a gemstone!” she sighed. “What's the blue one I’m thinkin’ of?”

“I’m afraid I don't know my gems that well...”

“Yes, aquamarine, that’s it.!” she said, not waiting for his reply. 

“Aptly named,” he laughed.

“The water, it’s so clear today, I’d never guess this wasn’t St. Tropez or Fiji!”

“Even with the tide coming in, it is looking rather calm,” he noted. “We should come back at low tide and really do some exploring.”

“Do you reckon it’s cold?” she asked.

“Less so by this time of day. And it's been so warm lately. But see for yourself if you’d like.”

“Oh yes, must do this properly…” she laughed and bent down to undo her sandals. “Come on, Ross. You too,” she ordered and began to untie his trainers while she was stooped over.

“Hey!” He felt her busy hands trying to lift his foot out of his shoe. “Rather forward of you, you little minx...” he protested but leaned on her shoulder and allowed her to continue in her urgent work. 

“Socks too,” she said and ran a ticklish finger along his arch, purposely trying to upset his balance.

“Leave them all here, let’s go down to that beautiful sea of yours,” he proposed as she tucked his balled up socks in his shoes then laid them next to hers.

“Wait,” she said and reached around to pull her mobile from where she’d stashed it in his back pocket since her dress had none.

“Okay...there!” she said proudly, and showed him the photo of their bare feet in the sand. 

Today her toenails were a fiery red and she’d taken the shot with her lovely big toe stroking his hairy foot. Somehow she’d managed to communicate so much in just one photo. Love, companionship, tenderness. And the contrast of her elegant beauty next to his coarse untamed state was evocative. At least it was to him--he’d grown rather fond of their two bodies intermingled.

Without waiting for him, she began walking to the water’s frothy edge--slowly, like she wanted to savour every step, every grain of sand under her feet, every drop of sea mist that touched her skin.

“Ross, this is simply brilliant!” she called over her shoulder. “It’s not cold at…all!” she began then squealed as a breaking wave splashed her legs, wetting the hem of her dress. “Ah! Well maybe it is...just a bit!’

Ross watched her laugh and race along the shore. It was hard to resist grabbing her up in his arms every time she giggled.

“So you really grew up here?” she asked.

“Didn’t you too?” 

“My Cornwall didn't look like this and just so we’re clear we are not goin’ to Illogan anytime soon. And as much as I love my brothers, I’m not seein’ them in person until they show some better judgement.”

“Whatever you desire, my love. No reason why we can’t shut ourselves away from everyone here.” He caught her hand again and walked alongside her.

“Isn’t it odd? We’ve come all this way, yet once again, we’re alone in the world?” she said and threw her head back to enjoy the sun on her face then stepped closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Already her hair had taken on the smell of the sea.

“Except for the gulls,” he added.

“Why did I think those were terns?” she asked. “Then again, I didn’t exactly grow up on the beach, like you did, Ross.”

“Terns are smaller with black heads. That one at the water’s edge is a common gull but see that bigger one walking over to it? That’s a herring gull. And that one there with the dark wings is a Great Black Back Gull,” he explained, pointing at the birds with their joined hands. Just then the massive gull gave one economical flap of his wings and shooed the others away.

“He looks like a bully,” she observed. “I do forget sometimes that other people even exist, we’ve seen so few since we left the city,” she mused.

“Are you tiring of my company?” he asked coyly.

“You ask me this now? After weeks of bein’ cooped up in your tiny flat I never tired of you and now that we have the whole sea and the immense sky all around us…”

“Exactly. Now we’ll have more opportunities to be apart, perhaps you'll like that,” he said.

“You’re teasin’ me and tryin’ to get me to tell you I can’t possibly live a moment without you. But if I need to be alone, I’ll say so and I trust you’ll do the same,” she said wisely. “I know that’s an important part of who you are and I don’t want to change you.”

“I love you,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple.

“I love you too, Ross. And I love this beach!” 

“So after so many years away you’re ready to admit you love your native Cornwall?” he asked.

They walked along slowly, not saying a word but listening to the wind in their ears and the waves crashing around them.

Occasionally she’d pick up a shell or a pebble of interest but then remembering she had no pockets, would toss it back to the waves. She seemed to have an eye for beauty, no matter where it lay hidden, whereas he only saw seaweed, wet sand, and the occasional bit of driftwood at his feet. But he wasn’t looking for treasure--he already had everything he could want.

Further up the shore, in the warm sand, two long-dead fish had been tossed by the tide--they’d dried in the sun and the way their bodies bent so both head and tail poked out of the sand, reminded Ross of something from his childhood that his old aunt had rhapsodized about.

“Look...Stargazy pie,” he laughed and pointed the dead fish arrangement out to Demelza. “Or would you prefer your pilchards in an ice cream?”

“Oh good god! Ross, why did you have to…” She dropped his hand at once and sprinted back towards the dunes. After a few yards, she bent low. It seemed she was sick.

“Demelza!” he called to her.

“Just stay there, I’ll be…” she retched again. “Fine.”

He didn't wait and came up quickly behind her, hoping he could remember where in the sand they’d left their shoes earlier.

She stood up, and as he moved closer, he saw the beads of sweat on her brow. He panicked--it brought back a memory so acute that he felt a shock jolt his spine.

“My love! Are you... unwell again?” With one hand he pushed the damp hair back from her brow, the other twisted her ponytail up, exposing her neck to the cool air around them. “Breathe,” he said firmly but managed to weave in a soft, attentive note as well.

“Okay,” she said and took one breath as instructed, then exhaled slowly. More even paced ones followed. 

He watched as her shoulders loosened, her back straightened. Perhaps the worst had passed. 

“Demelza?” 

“I wasn’t quite sick just now but I sure came close,” she explained. “But don’t fret Ross. Surely it's all those hours in the car. I told you I'm prone to motion sickness and today you got to see it firsthand.”

“I should have thought to…” he began but wasn’t even sure what he could have done differently along the drive. He wished he’d brought along the bottle of water from the car, but as he was despairing, she grasped his hand reassuringly.

“I’ll be okay as long as I breathe more of this fine sea air. But please don’t even say the word fish…or pilchard.”

“No, of course not.” He hoped she was telling the truth. He’d noticed as they climbed down the dune she had been a bit short of breath. He had read that symptoms could return now and then, months after the initial onset--it was one more way things were not fully understood. 

_So you thought you could outrun it, you fool, but its shadows have followed you to Cornwall_ , he silently chastised himself.

“Relax, Ross. This is old news.” She seemed to read his face--and his thoughts. “I told you I’ve been this way my whole life. I’m okay on trains, usually okay on airplanes, unless there’s turbulence. Cars are a total crap shoot. Buses are the worst--no, I take that back--boats are the worst.”

“Oh...well there goes tonight’s surprise,” Ross said. He tried to follow it with a laugh to hide his disappointment.

“Ross? What is it? What did you plan?”

“I have an old friend with a boat that I’d arranged to meet at the harbour tonight. I thought a sunset sail with a nice bottle of wine might be…” 

“Lovely...Oh Ross, I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ll be fine by sunset--that’s hours away! Please we can still…”

“Out of the question. The sea is rough today anyway,” he lied looking away from its smooth glassiness and back into her eyes. “We’ve loads of time. Charlie’s sailboat will keep until tomorrow or later in the week. Come let’s walk, if you’re up to it?”

She dropped his hand and, waving away his concern, began taking long strides back towards the tide. He quickened his pace to keep up and hoped she wasn’t overdoing it just to ease his mind.

“What’s he like, this Charlie fellow? And how is it, Ross, that a man has so many friends--everywhere really--yet seems to prefer solitude?” she asked once he’d caught up with her again.

“Are you referring to _me_?” he laughed. “Solitude is not the same as being solitary. I like being alone with you. I’ve found it suits me quite nicely.”

“Then I shall be the guardian of your solitude, Ross,” she smiled.

“And most of these friends I’ve inherited from my father. He knew everyone.”

“Not too shabby an inheritance,” she said. “That and an energy company. And a house...” 

“Yes, well Grace was nearly insolvent when I took over and we can withhold judgement on Nampara’s value until you see it. You know, Demelza,” Ross was suddenly reminded, “My father was prone to motion sickness too. His mates in school used to refer to him as ‘Guts’ yet I think that was a play on his impulsive spirit as well. And I do believe some of the vomiting was brought on by excessive drinking and not by motion.”

“Impulsive? Drinker? You Poldarks...” she said and shook her head dismissively then laughed to show she was teasing.

“ _We Poldarks_? Are you not going to become one?”

“I only said maybe.” The bright smile was back.

“We know what that means. Unless you renege on your agreement--which would be just like a Carne, wouldn't it?”

“What? We Carnes are steadfast and true--at least this one is. But how would you know anyway? You’ve only met the one!”

“And how many Poldarks have you met?”

“I’ve met Verity, so that makes two.” 

“She’s about as different from my father as is possible,” he said quickly. “Anyway, I assume you’d keep your name.”

“Just like a Poldark to make such hasty assumptions,” she replied. “But I suppose you‘ll find out soon enough…”

He laughed lightly.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I think my father would have liked you…”

“Why?” She sounded mistrustful, like she was expecting another tease.

“Well...he’d see you were sharp, perceptive. He’d appreciate that--and also your strength,” he said sincerely. “And he'd especially like that you wouldn't let me get away with shite.”

“And would I like him?”

“You would probably find some shred of good in him and remind me it was there.” 

“Um? Is that all?” She cocked her head as though she could tell his thoughts had gone somewhere darker, if only for a moment.

“My father also admired pretty women and so no doubt he’d want to show you his...devotion. And I’m not sure I'd like that so much.”

“You think I couldn't handle myself?”

“I know you'd be the epitome of grace and tact--and also make it clear that if he touched you you’d give him a swift kick.”

“Come Ross, let’s go home. It doesn't matter if Jane isn't done--we can get started on some supper and just…”

“Yes?”

“Bask!”

“Bask? Isn’t that best done here in the sun? We haven't hit the shops yet. Maybe we should do the shopping first…”

“That can keep until tomorrow after we take stock of what we need. We brought some groceries with us. I can do somethin’ with pasta and a tin of beans…”

“Something amazing, no doubt, no matter the provisions.” He refrained from joking about catching a fish supper.

 _Maybe we can outrun the shadows_ , Ross thought, and looked over his shoulder one more time at the glittering sea and the brilliant sky above it. 

He took Demelza’s hand in his and led her back towards the dunes and the hidden steps that awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demelza musing on guarding one another’s solitude, as well as the title of this whole fic, comes from this gorgeous Rilke quote: “The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, _if they succeed in loving the distance between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky._ ”― Rainer Maria Rilke, _Letters to a Young Poet._
> 
> Also references to outrunning shadows from Debbie Horsfield’s season 3 scripts. I am grateful as always, for her writing and Winston Graham’s, as I shamelessly play with their characters.


	39. This Must Be the Place

“Demelza, bring me the rum!” Ross called. His already gravelly baritone echoed across the flagstone floors, making his cry far fiercer than he'd intended. He’d meant to be playful and not fierce at all but had forgotten how this old house somehow changed everything, especially sounds and smells, to tell its own story.

“What’s that?” Demelza laughed as she popped her head into the dim living room, wiping her hands on an old tea towel. Whatever she’d heard, she seemed untroubled by Ross’s grey humour. She’d been having a lovely evening from the very moment they pulled into the dusty Nampara drive.

\---

“This must be the place!” Demelza clapped her hands and began to unbuckle her seat belt before Ross had even switched off the engine. “Oh, Ross, it’s a dream!”

 _It’s a nightmare_ , he thought at once but was considerate enough of her excitement that he didn’t speak the words aloud. It had been far too long since he’d been there in person. Why anyone on holiday would ever let the place willingly, Ross couldn’t say. 

The garden was alternately bare patches of exposed dirt and overgrown tufts of grass and weeds. Old tires and rusted farm equipment were piled in an unsightly heap in the northernmost corner of the yard--was that actually a plow? The house itself looked as though it might crumble if faced with a strong enough breeze. Green-grey from creeping moss and visibly sagging, the stone walls looked to be finally giving up after centuries of bearing so much weight. Paint peeled around the smeary windows, a drain spout hung at an odd angle by the back door.

If Ross had thought he’d be getting any rest on this holiday, he was mistaken. It had been years since he’d employed any practical skills such as carpentry or even lawn mowing, but he’d need to get busy immediately. 

Demelza was oblivious to the decay around her--or perhaps she was charmed by it--and was already at the kitchen door. Masked, she was ready to displace Jane Gimlet and take possession of the place.

“Ross,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe bring in the plants first? The rest can wait.”

“At your service, m’lady.” He smiled--at her happiness--then sighed. 

_The less we say about it, the better. If she doesn’t see the cracks and flaws, I’ll not be the one to point them out._

The next hour was a flurry of activity. Despite her professed anxiety about meeting other souls, Demelza was buoyant and friendly to Jane Gimlet, successfully coaxing the woman to leave them even though the house was not yet in finished order. 

“Can’t I at least see to the bed linens? Don’t seem right that I quit now when there’s more to do in the bedrooms... but if Mister Poldark is knackered, I understand. My own mister gets awful cross after bein’ on the road--needs to be left alone with his _Country File_. I’m not allowed to utter a word to him for hours!” Jane prattled on while Demelza politely ushered her from the house. “Mind, I didn’t do much shoppin’, just what we do for the usual guests, you know. A packet of bacon in the fridge and some eggs and bread for yer breakfast. There’s some longlife milk in the cupboard but nothin’ fresh…”

“That sounds brilliant. You’ve done a marvelous job, Jane,” Demelza replied as she quietly opened all the windows to further air the place. Ross saw from her eyes that she was still smiling behind her mask--and noticed how she always kept her a more than two meter distance no matter how much Jane moved about the room.

“You just have a seat, Ross, while I get dinner goin’,” Demelza said after Jane Gimlet finally drove away. “I’ll bring you a drink--whisky or some of this, whatever it is?” she laughed holding up an unmarked bottle she’d pulled from a kitchen shelf.

“I believe that’s rum. Water will suit me fine for now, but I can get it myself," Ross objected. “Do you need help with dinner?” He bristled at the idea of being waited on. It uncomfortably reminded him of his father who was rather inept at caring for himself. But whether or not Ross obliged to put his feet up, Demelza continued to bustle about. He’d wondered if this was her way of telling him she wanted to be alone.

“No, I saw some rosemary in the garden and have a plan. It won't take long. Just call if you’re needin’ me!” She gave what almost looked like an awkward curtsy then waltzed out of the room humming a little melody Ross only vaguely recognised.

\--

Now Ross sat in the living room--his father used to call it the parlour--and stared at the cold grate in the hearth. What this room needed was a good fire to warm it and chase away the oozy smells and the damp. He noticed a fine layer of dust on the mantle and stood up to examine more closely.

Jane must have overlooked that portion of her duties but no doubt Demelza would be going over everything in the next 24 hours, no matter how he pleaded with her to leave it. Her usual energy seemed to have returned. And if it made her happy to tidy the place, if it made her feel at home, then perhaps he shouldn’t try to stop her. She was good about knowing when she needed to go slow or rest, so if she could listen to herself, he might at least trust her and do the same.

He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the remaining dust away then changed his mind about a drink. If he couldn’t change the walls around him he might be able to soften his perception a bit. Back at his flat he’d have a subtle, nuanced whisky but this place called for something different. 

Strong rum had his father’s favourite tipple and Ross had it restocked in the house out of some shred of nostalgia for the man. It was hardly ever touched though. Guests seemed to like more refined drinks--wine or single malt usually--so overtime the rum had made its way to the kitchen as a flavouring for cakes or desserts.

“Demelza, bring me the rum!” Ross called out, then winced when he heard how his voice boomed.

A moment later, she glided in, all smiles and laughter, light in her eyes and the rum bottle in her hand, and Ross saw then he needed no fire in the hearth or spirits in his belly. Her unbridled happiness was warming the place, inside and out. It inspired him to want to give to her in return.

 _When was the last time I felt love in this house?_ he wondered.

\---

“Why the hell didn’t Mrs. Gimlet make the bed before she left?” Ross grunted impatiently then caught himself. 

Over the past few hours he’d tried to steady his mood and had largely succeeded. Demelza’s simple but satisfying dinner had helped--so had her satisfying company--but despite his efforts, Nampara’s tired state had continued to wear on him. Or perhaps it was his own exhaustion from the day’s journey finally hitting. 

_We’ve traveled so far._

And yet Demelza didn’t seem tired at all. She was still so excited to explore the house--Ross kept hearing her squeal with delight whenever she turned a new corner. Everything, even an unmade bed, was an adventure. Was she intentionally providing him with a counter balance? Maybe the nap she’d had in the car was what helped recharge her. 

Ross sighed and recalled his earlier pledge to listen to her more, to trust her instincts. Perhaps he should try napping tomorrow afternoon too. Or better still--they could do that together.

He flashed her a weak smile and resolved to be less visibly grumpy. 

“Oh Ross, it wasn’t Jane's fault. I pushed her out of here before she’d had a chance to finish the upstairs.”

“Well it isn’t as though the rest of the house is that immaculate…” Once again he was failing in his cheer. So much for his resolve. 

_It must be this place_ , he thought.

“The downstairs looks perfectly acceptable,” Demelza replied and continued moving about the bedroom.

“Perhaps my standards have changed since I’ve lived…”

“In the big city in your sleek new flat?“ she offered. She silently shooed him aside so she could finish her task.

“I was going to say since I’ve lived with you. You set a high bar and take excellent care of everything. Even an 18th century stone house...”

“I know, I know...you told me I was born in the wrong century,” she laughed.

“Yes, you were,” he said.

“Oh, is that why you want to marry me? Because I’d make you a proper wife--cleanin’ and cookin’? And then of course when we’re in bed…”

“No!” he said quickly and perhaps too sharply. “No, my love, do you really think that?” He took her hand and sat her next to him on the bare bed. Could she really think he was that shallow?

“Is this where you tell me you love my mind?” she laughed again. Apparently she’d taken no offense at anything he’d said. Not all evening and not then.

“Yes...I do love your mind but that’s not all…” he stammered. How to tell her it was more than just the sum of all her glorious parts? And wasn’t her mind the driver in all that was Demelza? Her heart, her spirit, her ideas and perspective on the world, her sense of companionship. He felt overwhelmed and utterly unable to put his thoughts into words.

“I know, Ross,” she said gently. “Of all the things I might worry about, the depth of your love isn't one of them. Besides, I imagine you’d make a proper husband--providin’ for the family with food and a roof over our heads, protectin’ us from whatever we need protectin’ from…”

“Here, let me help you,” he said, eager to change the subject. He didn’t want to think of all the things he’d never be able to protect her from. “How did you know where to find the linens?”

“Intuition--what else would you store in a hallway cupboard? Except maybe Poldark family skeletons.”

“I’m sure they are to be found,” he said and took a stack of pillows from her and began matching them with clean cases. 

“Oh I love it, she said putting a sheet to her face and breathing deeply. “Lavender. Good for stress relief and also used by the Egyptians in mummification.”

“Are you asking me to wrap you in that sheet?” 

“Because you’d like to unwrap me?” She stared him down but her mouth twitched a smile to let him know she’d be game for any such play.

“Come, let’s make that bed. I’m feeling quite ready to retire with you.”

“Ross, the sun hasn’t even really set yet,” she said, “We’ve hours before we’ll be ready for sleep. Or is that the idea?” 

“Hours? If you say so. Once again you lord your youthful stamina over me, whereas I am old and…”

“And so soft!” Demelza sighed, ignoring Ross’s weak attempt at self-deprecation and instead feeling the sheet as she spread it out on the bed.

“What? Oh that...I’m afraid that’s not from thread count but from years of wear.” The sheets she’d found were a garish harvest gold with broad white stripes--they were probably older than she was. Hadn’t she once declared yellow sheets disturbing? 

_Good god! That was before we ever shared a bed,_ he thought. _We have traveled far._

“We should have brought our new ones with us,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“You’d have brought everythin’ if given the chance Ross. Can you get that corner for me?” she asked and quietly watched until he’d pulled the sheet taut enough to meet her expectations. “Besides, I like knowin’ all the Poldarks slept on these…”

“And any stranger who let the house?” he laughed. “Although I suppose there must be a stash of better bedding for paying guests. I wonder where that’s kept?”

“I didn’t see any others--maybe Jane’s hid them somewhere. But never mind that, Ross. Let me have my Poldark fantasy,” she smiled and reached for the top sheet.

He sat on the bed and laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” she asked, apparently suspicious that he’d so suddenly stopped his gloomy musings.

“Well, it's just for some time you...you were my fantasy, Demelza. I mean in the flat before we could be close. It sometimes still seems impossible now...now that…” 

“I’m your reality?” she bent over and kissed him, stroking his beard lovingly. He pulled her back towards him so they were both stretched out on the bed. ”Ross...your shoes,” she said gently.

He sat up and began to remove his shoes and was glad he had--traces of sand from the beach had remained inside. 

“Did you ever suspect anything? I mean before we made it clear how we felt about each other...” he asked her, carefully slipping off his socks so no sand got in the bed.

“Did I suspect you had fantasies ‘bout me? Not at first. Then one day I saw your eyes had changed when you looked at me over your coffee cup,” she said.

“I told you I’m rubbish at hiding things.” He stretched back out on the bed again and she playfully tossed the top sheet over him, tucking it in around him.

“We both are. And it wasn't one sided Ross. I had my ‘dreams’ about you too…”

“Yes?” he gently coaxed her to continue.

“At first it was just well...when I saw you walkin’ shirtless to the toilet, hair standin’ straight up and that glorious mornin’ ‘accomplishment’ in your pants that you like to sport,” she said.

“I don't _sport_ it--there's nothing I can do to hide it,” he chuckled.

“Well I was impressed. But then you were kind to me--actually you’d always been kind to me--but I started thinkin’ ‘Here is someone I could spend time with.’ Don't laugh--I know we had nothin’ to do but spend time together but I thought ‘here is someone I’d _like_ to spend time with’. And then I started to imagine doin’ so.”

“Tell me…” he said, leaning on his elbow. He tried not to grimace at how uncomfortable the mattress was. It was far too hard and the springs squeaked with the slightest movement.

“It was difficult at first--I mean, was I to set these daydreams in the ‘real world’ and just when would we be back in such a one? But which world didn’t really matter--we had our own, didn’t we? My favourite was when I imagined makin’ you a Sunday roast.”

“Your fantasies involved feeding me?” He caught her hand and pulled her down next to him again.

“Yes, then after dinner we’d go straight to bed and stay there for hours.” She leaned over and kissed him and it gave him just a taste of what she’d had in mind. “Or I’d imagine packin’ your bags, helpin’ you get ready for a business trip.” 

“You imagined me leaving?”

“No, in the dream I’ve got my case too because I’m comin’ with you. And I’d overpack and you'd say, ‘There’s some room still in my bag for your things’. And you’d help me shove my extra shoes or swimsuit in beside your clothes and off we’d go.” 

She snuggled next to him, resting her head on his chest. He could feel her steady exhalations.

“Where did we go?” he asked softly.

“That never mattered.”

“That’s a very sweet dream--though it's more likely that I'd be the one overpack.” He rubbed her back in gentle circles.

“Yes, I see that now.”

“So lying in a creaky old bed with a tired and grumpy man in a damp musty stone house wasn’t one of your fantasies?” he teased.

“Hush, this was a big day for you, Ross. No doubt you’ve loads of emotions and memories to process. You’ll feel better after you get some sleep. Besides, I already told you this place is brilliant,” she replied.

“It needs work.”

“It needs someone to love it,” she said. “And we’ve got plenty of time.”

“Yes we do.” He felt his muscles loosening, the oppressive weight beginning to lift, and he recognised the cause at once. He chuckled and put his hand on her knee.

“Why are you laughin’?” She raised her head and looked at him quizzically.

“Women--no two are alike, are they?”

“Women?” Now she sat all the way up, her raised brow inviting him to proceed--with caution.

“Okay- _-people, partners_.” He took the hint. “I mean some folks would come to a crumbling dingy house in the middle of nowhere…”

“Nowhere? Two miles from the sea, Ross! Two!” she objected.

“And they'd be horrified,” he continued. “Disgusted even. Whereas as you--you see it as an adventure and appreciate how large the airing cupboards are. You see beauty in everything.”

“Not everythin’, just the worthy stuff. But you do that too, Ross. You're doin’ it now, in fact."

“I believe I am the one who has been so troubled by the grime and the spiders,” he said.

“No, you do it when you point out the things you like about me.” Her voice was soft and gentle. “Well, it’s usually attitudes or perspectives. You seem to be lookin’ for beauty that’s below the skin--you notice that, Ross.”

“So I do. You make it easy.” He held her close for a minute, feeling her warmth spread through him--then he laughed again. “But to be fair, Demelza, you’ve great beauty on the outside as well. In fact the first thing I ever noticed about you was your gorgeous backside. I may have been ashamed to admit it then but now that it’s within my reach…” His hand moved down her back until it found its quarry and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Huh…”she said, feigning indifference and a little surprise. “Is that so, Ross? ‘Cause it took me days before I noticed your bum. I mean, it’s not bad but….”

“What?” he objected. “I have a spectacular bum and you know it.”

“And was it also your fantasy to come here? To this house?” She put her hand back to his cheek to focus him again.

“I suppose it was. I hadn’t thought it would be so run down--it was the thought of bringing you here that was attractive to me, getting you away from the cramped confines of the flat. To offer you the open sky.”

“Best present ever,” she sighed. 

“But none of that matters now--what I thought or wanted months ago. The past is the past, Demelza. All I can see is now…”

“We seem to have this conversation a lot--it’s grown to be one of my favourites, right after ‘what’s for lunch’?” It was her turn to laugh.

“Well, to be honest, I think I’m starting to see a little bit forward,” he admitted. “That seems significant.”

“Yes, me too. Maybe it’s that we have hope--I mean beyond just you and me. For the world?”

“So much has changed in this world,” he said.

“Yes, it has,” she agreed. “But maybe not all for the worse…”

_No, not all._

“Speaking of looking forward...if we can get witnesses sorted, how about next week? Wednesday? That's been a lucky day of the week for us…” he said.

“I suppose I’ve got a white dress,” she smiled. “But perhaps it would be more fittin’ with our courtship if we both get married in pajamas.”

“If that’s what you want.” He pulled her close again.

“Ross, do you feel like you’re at home now?” she asked.

“No, this is home.” He kissed her, then gingerly traced his finger along her collarbone and down to her heart. “And I was already there.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and a few lines scattered throughout come from the Talking Heads 1983 masterpiece “This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)”. There are many interpretations of the (ambiguous) lyrics of this song. I like to think that the narrator is exploring how the simple comfort he is experiencing from being in love and finding himself at home is unfamiliar, and can even be unsettling if one is unaccustomed to such a feeling. But he’s ready to roll with it. And I think this is something Ross would feel upon returning to Nampara. I’m not reading it as him being unsure about his love--that doesn’t happen in my stories, folks!
> 
> Read the full lyrics here: https://genius.com/Talking-heads-this-must-be-the-place-naive-melody-lyrics
> 
> Listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsccjsW8bSY
> 
> More on benefits of lavender here: https://www.healthline.com/health/what-lavender-can-do-for-you#origin
> 
> Poldark references abound in this chapter: “Bring me the rum!” is from Debbie Horsfield’s script for Poldark 1.3 (the beginning of an eventful night for those two!) And Ross musing that no two women are alike is from 1.5. Finally, the ‘unwrapping a mummy’ line is playfully borrowed from Winston Graham’s _The Angry Tide._
> 
> And thanks to tearable_puns who reminded me of the Poldark anniversary (June 24th) and pointed out that Demelza has a white dress with her in Cornwall ready to go. So I just had to weave that in!


	40. Pillow Talk

“Demelza? What’s the matter?” Ross whispered. She’d pulled away from him some time ago and had since crept closer to the edge of the bed. Now she hung her head off the side, away from her pillow. There wasn’t much further she could go.

“Erm...well,” she mumbled then exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding.

“Just tell me. If you think you're sparing me, you’re not...not with your tossing and turning,” he replied, then rubbed her back gently.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she said in a pinched voice, that wasn’t her own. “I’ll just go and…”

“No, you will not.” His hand grasped her arm and she obliged by flopping on to her back. The room was so dark he couldn’t quite read her eyes and when he bent closer to her face, he saw she had squeezed them shut.

“Demelza? Tell me…Is it the mattress?” he asked. 

Of course it was. He’d never experienced anything so uncomfortable. It seemed to suck all pleasure from his body and he suspected he’d wake feeling more tired than he did upon retiring. 

“No, that’s just fine,” she looked up at him and faked a smile. “I mean you did spoil us with that luxury bed back in your flat but I’m no princess who can’t handle a lump.”

_Or two._

“And this is still better than your leather sofa.” Now she forced a laugh. “Ross, I’m happy to be next to you anywhere…”

He could hear she was hesitating to say what was really wrong. 

“Demelza?” he said again.

“Oh Ross! It’s the lavender--it's so strong smellin’. And I can’t get it out of my nose--it feels like I’m tastin’ it! Maybe I just need some water...”

Ross took a deep whiff of the blanket he’d shoved to the foot of the bed earlier. It smelled fine to him. Perhaps her sense of smell was off since it had returned--he’d heard that could happen. Actually, it had been Demelza who read about smell distortions in survivors--and then of course had reported to him what she’d learned. What was the term for that condition? _Parosmia._

He then sniffed his pillow and the sheet that was wrapped around him, and almost gagged. He sighed in relief.

“You're right. It's overpowering,” he confirmed. “You stay put. I can change the sheets…”

“No, Ross, they all smell the same. I think it’s the laundry powder Jane uses.” There was a slight wobble in her voice--she could no longer hide her distress and once again he felt a tingle of alarm in his belly.

“Gather the blankets and come with me…” he said firmly and rose to his feet.

“What? Where are we goin’?” she asked and reached for the flannel shirt--one of his old ones--that she’d recently taken to wearing as pajamas. Of course it was all a bit pro forma since after only a few minutes in bed, Ross usually removed the shirt and anything she had on underneath.

“Hmm...the pillows. We’ll need them.” He tried to think of a quick solution. “But let’s take the cases off.”

\---

“You have to admit this was Demelza-level inspired improvisation,” Ross leaned on his elbow and looked into her smiling eyes. They were bright and sparkled both from the renewed joy within her and from the reflection of the flames in the hearth.

“No, this was all you, Ross. And it’s simply brilliant,” she said softly. “You got that fire goin’ rather fast. The country boy in you is comin’ out afterall. And I do love how wood smoke smells.”

"Yes, you told me that, didn't you?" he whispered. He refrained from mentioning that it might leave them smelling like smoked trout, and instead tucked a wayward curl behind her ear then stroked her arm. He was pleased that he’d made her smile again.

It hadn’t taken them long to set up quarters in the living room. Now they were snuggled in a nest of blankets and cushions on the floor in front of a crackling blaze. Ross’s stiff joints might complain in the morning but in truth it felt far more comfortable than the horrendous mattress upstairs. Demelza was again vibrating with excitement, caught up in the spontaneous adventure, and he’d enjoyed keeping her entertained. 

After so many weeks together, he knew how to make her laugh.

\---

As he’d expected, she’d begun her giggling when he’d first headed for the stairs completely naked.

“Ross, don't you need some pants or somethin’?” she’d called after him.

“Why? Who’s going to walk in on us in our own home--and at this hour? Jane Gimlet?” 

Still when she’d joined him downstairs minutes later she was partially dressed and had brought his jeans and his boxers.

“You seem to have developed the oddest sense of propriety, Demelza. The girl I met all those months ago thought nothing of parading nude around a perfect stranger’s flat.” He shook his head in mock disappointment then turned to the hearth so she could get a better view of his bare bum as he bent over.

“That _woman_ was sleepin’, not paradin’, and she thought no one as lookin', no gentleman at least,” she corrected him. “And I’m no expert but I’m guessin’ there’s probably some important rule of fire safety that says not to build one naked,'' she’d added when she saw him stacking the kindling. “I don’t want to see a single one of your precious hairs singed, Ross!” That time her laughter was louder. She'd then begun to hum as she made up their bed on the floor.

“Would you like to light some candles?” he asked her, knowing the answer would be a resounding yes. 

And when he suggested covering the caseless pillows with their shirts, she erupted again. This time it was a youthful--and almost eardrum piercing--squeal.

“Yes, let’s! But I get yours so I can smell you and you can have mine,” she proposed.

“Whatever you wish,” he chuckled, proud of his devious plan to get her to undress again.

And since then they’d passed an hour of warmth and love, the ill-smelling sheets and the hard mattress long forgotten. What once had been dancing flames were now settling into a glowing bed of ash--still hot just not as animated. Demelza too had settled down and was beginning to show signs she was tired once more.

“I’ll have to put the fire out completely before we go to sleep,” he said and kissed her bare shoulder. 

“But we’re still awake so don’t do it yet--I like how it feels. Funny, it was so warm today, I’d never guess I’d be wantin’ a fire, but I suppose the temperature drops when the sun sets,” she murmured drowsily. 

“Significantly and this house is always cold. Especially the rooms with flagstone floors,” he said. As he spoke, she snuggled closer to him again. And when she pressed her warm skin against his, he forgot the chill and the damp and the hard floor beneath them.

“Demelza…” he began but found her name caught in his throat. It must have been the smoke. He wiped his eye with the back of his hand.

“Ross? Are you okay?” she asked and put a sleepy hand to his cheek.

“Yes, my love.”

“Do you want me to go to sleep?” she asked.

“Of course. Right away, please,” he kissed her.

“Yes, Ross.” 

\--

Ross felt a nagging pressure on his eyes he could not ignore. He opened them to see a mellow sunlight had filled the Nampara living room. It wasn’t cheering exactly, still all seemed far less grim than it had the previous evening. But since he’d closed the windows around midnight, the room was feeling a bit stuffy. 

He tried to fold back some of the blankets that covered them in their makeshift bed without waking Demelza, but as soon as he moved she murmured and flailed one of her arms. 

“Shh, love, stay asleep,” Ross whispered, bending low to her ear but as soon as he spoke she smiled.

“You know I’m awake or you wouldn’t be talkin’ to me.” She opened one eye and looked up at him.

“I talk to you all the time when you sleep.” He kissed her temple and with the back of his hand gently stroked her eyelids so they'd close again.

“That’s only vaguely creepy, Ross,” she teased but kept her eyes closed and cuddled against him again.

“There's no rush to rise, you should lay in as long as you wish,” he said. “Bask, in fact….”

“I thought I heard somethin’,” she mumbled into his chest.

“You did--listen,” he said softly.

“Is that...birds?” she said and opened her eyes.

“Yes, the birds around here are quite insistent in the morning.”

“Oh Ross!” She sat up and he could see her eyes were wide and wet.

“What is it? Demelza?” He pulled her close and crushed her in an embrace. “My love…”

“No, Ross, it's just I feel so happy. It’s silly, isn’t it? Somethin’ so regular as a bird is enough to, well, make me lose it.”

“Is this another Elton John moment?”

“Don’t tease, Ross.”

“I’m not. I know what you mean. But enjoy it--the birds, the morning in all its regular-ness. I promise there is nothing special at all about this day,” he said and gently pushed her back down to the pillow covered in his black t-shirt. He put his own head down on the red flannel that still smelled like her.

“Mmm,” she said.

“I agree,” he said.

“Wait, I heard somethin’ else. Like maybe...no, it stopped,” she sat up again. And when she did, the sunlight streaming through the hazy window softly illuminated the bare expanses of skin across her breasts and belly. 

Ross suddenly found himself less interested in coaxing her back to sleep.

Weaving one hand through her tousled hair, he pulled her towards him and kissed her--slowly at first, but quickly building in his intensity and drive. His other hand peeled off the remaining covers then instinctually he shifted his body above hers.

“Ross,” she purred without separating her lips from his. He felt her nails scratch down his back but he heard nothing except the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. 

“Roll over,” he growled.

“So that’s how it’s goin’ to be?” she laughed but it was breathy, anxious, eager.

Now it was his turn to run his hands down her back. They settled firmly at her hips and he pulled her towards him with a hungry moan then closed his eyes.

The rest seemed to all happen at the same time.

“Oh.” 

A woman’s voice that was _not_ Demelza’s made it to his brain while Demelza’s scream registered as very much belonging to her. Ross had never heard her so frightened, and his arms stiffened protectively around her even before he’d opened his eyes. But open them he did, just as that other voice--this time recognisable but very unwelcome--spoke again.

“Oh,” it repeated.

And then Ross saw them.

Elizabeth Poldark stood frozen in the doorway of the Nampara living room--and next to her was George Warleggan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, parosmia is a real thing. Once again I had a suspicion and then found confirmation of it.  
> https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/20201201/smell-training-might-speed-the-senses-return-after-covid
> 
> This chapter plays with that scene in _Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall_ , when Demelza can’t sleep and Ross worries she’s eaten poorly cured bacon (I do like that he’s so concerned and I get that it’s all new to him but he’s kind of a jerk in how he expresses it, isn't he?).
> 
> The title of this chapter is for Thea, a faithful reader who I’ve been happy to get to know through her entertaining comments.


	41. Chekhov's Gun

What happened in the next few moments was a bit of a blur and perhaps best forgotten. Demelza quickly clutched a blanket to herself then threw Ross his trousers, which he awkwardly held in front of his crotch. 

“It’s okay, Demelza, I know these people,” Ross tried to explain but he couldn’t really account for their presence in his living room. “Hello...We’re not dressed yet,” Ross barely choked out the words.

_Obviously._

“We...erm...knocked,” George Warleggan mumbled but Elizabeth Poldark had already backed away into the hallway.

It was then that Demelza began laughing and didn’t try to hide it. It wasn't a just titter or her hiccupy-giggle but her brightest unbridled laugh--one that rang through the house. 

_That’s certainly one one way of handling an embarrassing situation._ Ross supposed he should be pleased she wasn’t still screaming or angry--or weeping with humiliation.

“We should go.” Elizabeth looked as though she was about to faint or perhaps vomit.

“We weren’t expecting visitors, give us a moment…” Ross said but realised he couldn’t put on his trousers while they just stood there.

“We’ll wait in the garden,” George finally had the sense to say.

\---

“Ross, it’s a surprise to see you.” Elizabeth managed a fake smile when Ross emerged through the front door several minutes later. 

“A surprise to find me in my own house?” he asked, unable to disguise the sarcasm. Now that the shock had dissipated, annoyance--verging on anger--was starting to take center stage with him.

“I mean, we hadn’t been told you were in Cornwall and so we weren’t expecting that you’d be at Nampara…” Elizabeth paused unable to think of what to say next. What could she say?

“You see, Poldark, we were out for a drive and thought someone had broken into the place--someone living rough or maybe teenagers having a laugh. You know how it is with empty houses,” George said with surety.

Ross saw through the lie at once. There were no signs of a break-in, nothing about the house was amiss. Ross had closed all the front windows last night after Demelza fell asleep, so there’d be no suggestion of any inhabitants visible to drivers on the road. No tire tracks, not even traces of chimney smoke would have remained. 

He was relieved when Demelza came from behind and joined him on the front step. She quietly handed him a face mask that he eagerly put on. He relished the extra boundary between himself and his unexpected guests and found the mask a welcome symbol. 

“This is Demelza Carne, my fiance.” 

He realised it was the first time he’d ever said those words aloud--it sounded good--but he wished it had been announced under different circumstances. He also noticed the twitch of discomfort that flashed across Elizabeth’s face as he spoke. 

“Very nice to meet you,” Elizabeth managed to say primly.

“Demelza, this is my cousin-in-law, Elizabeth Poldark, and this is...George Warleggan.” Ross stopped himself from using the term ‘friend’ in this last introduction. 

“Oh hello. Would you like some coffee--we can drink it out here,” Demelza said sweetly. “I’m afraid we don’t have milk since we just arrived and haven’t even been to the shops yet.”

Ross gave her a quick side wise glance and smiled behind his mask. He appreciated the bright expression she wore and found himself proud of her poise and her iron resolve in such an awkward situation. 

She was wearing the red flannel shirt, misbuttoned, and only a pair of his boxers underneath just barely visible under the tails of the shirt. But he knew to look for them. With her strange sense of propriety--the one he’d teased her about only the night before--she wouldn’t dare come to the door half clothed. And yet by remaining in pajamas and not fully dressing for the day she was also making a statement. 

She was--brilliantly--making her claim. They were happy, and she was not just some passing girlfriend, she was Ross’s partner. His lover. Satisfied--and satisfying. 

And she was a resident of Nampara. No, she was mistress of the place, whereas George and Elizabeth were uninvited visitors. Interlopers. Trespassers. 

“We really must be going. Very sorry to have troubled you…” Elizabeth stammered. She’d caught the message sent to her.

“Yes, glad to see everything is in order here, Poldark, and you’ve not had a break-in,” George insisted on continuing his farce. “You should let your family know in advance next time you travel to the county.”

Demelza must have sensed how infuriating Ross found that last line--so smug, so pompously judgmental--and calmly touched Ross’s arm. He gave her a weak smile and covered her hand with his own, regaining his composure.

“Please do send my greetings to Francis and the other Poldarks,” Ross said to Elizabeth, ignoring George altogether.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Elizabeth looked at her feet, unable to meet Ross’s eye. “You must come visit soon--both of you,” she added with a polite nod to Demelza.

“Well it was very lovely to meet you,” Demelza said then turned to go back into the house. “Both of you.” 

There was only the faintest trace of sarcasm in her voice. No one else would have suspected she had the cheek but Ross knew her well enough now. He bit his lip to contain a snicker, then followed her.

\---

“The coffee is ready,” Demelza said, opening the box of longlife milk without turning around to look at Ross. She took her own mug to the kitchen table and took a slow draught, then paused while she made up her mind about its flavour. Finally she gave a shrug--satisfied but not enthused.

Tentatively, Ross shuffled in, hoping it didn’t mean anything that Demelza hadn’t poured a cup for him. The serving of coffee had been an important daily ritual for them from their first morning together.

“Yes, yes, my wingèd friends. You’ve succeeded in fully wakin’ me up.” She was speaking to the birds in the yard--a cacophony of birdsong had erupted outside the open kitchen window breaking the silence. “Well, Ross, that was fun. At least they stayed more than six feet away,” she added.

“Demelza, I am so sorry,” he began. He wasn’t taking responsibility for George and Elizabeth but wanted her to know how much he regretted putting her in such a vulnerable--and _exposed_ \--state.

“I know, Ross--this wasn’t your fault. You certainly hadn’t invited them. But tell me, does everyone leave their doors unlocked in the country? It doesn’t seem safe to me…”

“Nor to me. I did lock it but the Trenwith Poldarks have a key,” he explained. “In case of emergencies.”

“Emergencies?” she repeated then laughed. 

He exhaled in relief to hear her laugh again.

“Why did you tell them we didn’t have milk?” Ross asked.

“I didn’t want to be _too_ invitin’! I didn’t know if they’d stay,” she snorted. 

“I appreciate your quick thinking but I don’t think it was lack of milk that sent them on their way,” he said. 

_Good god, if they’d come in just a minute later they’d have seen even more of a show_ , he realised and exhaled in relief.

“So that’s your old fiance?” Demelza asked flatly.

“Yes, that was her.” 

“I’m not sure I expected her to be that pretty.” Demelza pulled her long legs up under her on the chair and looked towards the open kitchen window. 

Ross shifted uncomfortably and considered what to say next. He wasn’t happy that he’d still been struck by Elizabeth’s looks. She had that sort of empirical, objective beauty that wasn't open for interpretation, even if it wasn’t exactly his taste any more. 

But there had been a change. Something...maybe around her eyes? Not aging but an almost imperceptible sadness. In the past few months, Ross had grown rather skilled at reading people’s hearts through their eyes.

“Ross...” Demelza began, then paused. He sensed she too was unsure of her next words but no doubt would have something worthy to say.

“What is it, my love?” He’d best help her along.

“Well...you know I’m not really one for gossip…”

“Do I? I’ve never really had you around anyone that we might gossip about,” he said and sat down next to her. 

“Oh that's true.” Now she looked into her cup and still not at him. He’d been trying to be breezy but instead succeeded in silencing her.

“Demelza?”

“Okay so it's speculation, and I admit I don't know these people one bit, so what I perceive is just an impression, and perhaps a false one based on the uncomfortable circumstances of our meetin’…”

“Yes?” he laughed. She was certainly trying to couch this next statement as delicately as possible, but was tying her words into unfathomable knots as a result. “Say what's on your mind.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd that they--George and Elizabeth--were here? No, of course that’s strange but I mean, here _together_? In a time when folks are barely goin’ out again at all and when they do, it is carefully chosen baby steps...you don’t go for a casual, impromptu drive with a mate to an empty house?”

_Conveniently remembering to carry the key to that very house._

“And neither of them was wearin’ a mask," Demelza went on. “And…they seemed genuinely disappointed to find us here.” 

“I’d say they were put out,” he added.

“Never mind. It’s unfair for me to say anythin’ about folks I don't know…I mean, men and women can surely just be friends.” She shook her head. “You know, forget my blanket indictment of romantic comedies because I do like that film…” she rambled.

“I agree, Demelza.“

“That _When Harry Met Sally_ isn’t a bad film or that men and women can be just friends?”

“Both, and that George and Elizabeth’s behaviour is fishy. Oh sorry…” he caught himself.

“Oh it’s just a word. I mean, I am still a bit traumatised by those disgustin’ dead fish on the shore…”

“Are you?” he asked and reached for her hand but she waved him away. 

She used both her hands to bring her cup to her lips, then pulled a face, giving the coffee a sniff before putting it down again.

“What is it?” he asked. When she’d sighed he thought she sounded a little out of breath.

“I think the milk is off after all. But don’t fuss. As long as I don’t have to see or smell pilchards, I’m fine. Fishy, fishy, fishy. See?” 

He saw she was trying to convince him of something but decided to let it go.

“Okay, I agree that it’s _suspicious_. I think I know what you mean--about Elizabeth and George. That they perhaps were looking to use this place for a rendez-vous?”

“Maybe they _have_ been usin’ it? Someone’s been drinkin’ your old rum and I noticed the loo roll is almost out--in the upstairs toilet,” she said.

“Ugh...the sheets,” he muttered.

“No, Ross. Remember--we put those on ourselves. They’re clean,” she assured him. “George Warleggan must be Chekhov’s gun…”

“What?” he laughed and put down his coffee cup.

“You know, Chekhov’s rule that every element mentioned in a story must somehow be necessary, that no details or names should be irrelevant? When Verity brought George up in our zoom brunch, I should have known he’d come up again later,” she explained.

“Maybe you just recall that name because he _did_ come up later. Haven’t there been loads of other folks you've heard me mention that…” He stopped short, not wanting to call attention again to any memory issues.

“That I’ve forgotten? You mean like the Nanfans, the Bassetts, the Trenegloses, the Bedrugans…oh and it’s Charlie who has the boat we’re sailin’ on tonight.”

“Very good. Sounds like you're ready to make your social debut in these parts.”

“I believe I already made a debut that will be hard for anyone to forget,” she laughed, and savouring the invitation, he joined in. 

_Thank god she’s still finding humour in this._

“But maybe I could have a do-over?” she suggested. “And with a different audience altogether?” 

“Well there’s usually a big bonfire on Midsummer’s Eve and I imagine this year won’t be any different. We should go…that’s tomorrow.”

“How big a gatherin’, Ross?” she asked gently.

“Not sure, but it’s outdoors. And we can keep our distance...or we can build our own here or even on the beach, just you and me.”

“Whatever makes you happiest, Ross.” 

He saw she was trying her best to be brave and made a mental note that they’d celebrate at home, just the two of them. 

“It’s not about me…” he began.

“Of course it is! This is your big homecomin’ after all,” she winked.

“Yes, well…” he tried not to grimace thinking about how he’d need to reach out to the other Poldarks and soon. Elizabeth would mention she saw him, although how she’d explain the circumstances would be quite a feat. 

_She must be in quite a tizzy_ , he thought. 

Elizabeth couldn’t stand to be seen as anything but proper and this was not a flattering situation for her, no matter how she might spin it. Ross’s momentary embarrassment was nothing compared to what had surely been revealed about her intentions. Would she outright expect Ross to be complicit in a lie about George or was she just relying on Ross to possess some arcane gentlemanly code and keep his mouth shut? 

_As if I have loyalty to either of them._

“George has always wanted what belonged to others, so it wouldn’t surprise me,” Ross said aloud.

“That he’s been drinkin’ your rum and usin’ your loo rolls? Really?”

“I doubt he’d drink _that_ rum,” he laughed. “No, I’m not surprised George would make a move on Elizabeth. Since we were in school, he’s had the hots for her and she no doubt likes being _admired_.”

“But what does she see in _him_?” Demelza said, shaking her head. Apparently George had not impressed her very much.

“His money doesn't hurt.”

“But...she’s _married!_ ” Demelza said.

“Well, Frances--that’s her husband…” Ross started to explain.

“Yes, I know who Frances is for god's sake!”

“Of course you do,” he said quickly. She’d asked so many questions about his family over the past few months. And they were soon to be her family too, were they not?

“Can I expect to meet him sometime soon as well?” She raised a teasing brow. “Maybe he’ll join us in the shower?”

Ross laughed but had to admit he wasn’t really looking forward to introducing the two of them. 

Frances had only two settings--hot or cold. If, when he met Demelza, he sneered at her--always possible even if unwarranted in any way--Ross might not be able to hide his temper. But what if it were the opposite, and Frances was overly demonstrative of his attraction to Demelza? That might put Ross on an even more dangerous edge.

Weeks ago he’d vowed to be less aggressive, less predictably jealous. It was one thing when he was alone in the flat with Demelza. He’d have to fight harder to shake old habits and ingrained social conventions while back on home turf.

“So you were sayin’, Ross...Frances and Elizabeth?” she reminded him, jolting him from his silent contemplation.

“Yes...Frances isn’t always...well, I suspect he hasn't been giving Elizabeth quite the attention he should lately. At least before the lockdown, he was away from home much for _business_. Can’t say how their time isolated at home together went.”

“Oh Ross!” she cried. “Never mind, sorry I brought it up. I take no joy at other people’s misery. It’s depressin’. Especially since we’re so happy.”

“I know you said you couldn't stomach infidelity.” 

“So I did,” she said, apparently impressed that he’d remembered. “And it's on both sides with them, you think? Oh I wish people could just communicate and say what they want and need instead of lookin’ elsewhere.”

“I think in order to do that you have to be honest with yourself--and know what you need--and sadly few people are. Promise me, Demelza you’ll always let me know when I’m being an utter twat?”

“I wouldn't use that word but I promise. Tell me Ross, do you still have feelin’s for her?”

“For Elizabeth? No. I mean, I do still find her attractive…”

“Yes, I already told you I thought she’s lovely,” Demelza rolled her eyes but only half way and didn’t make a prolonged fuss. 

Ross responded by immediately pulling her hand into his and this time she let him. He gently stroked her skin with his thumb, then he lifted her chin to look into her eyes. It was important to finish this thought properly. 

“But I don't love her anymore if that's what you are asking,” he said.

“Okay…”

“The feelings I have are sort of nostalgic--even though it ended poorly--but the love, the nostalgia isn't really for her, it’s for...me.”

“What?” Demelza laughed. “That sounds like the sorta convoluted thing I’d say.”

“I’ve always said you were a good influence,” he smiled. “I think…” He paused again trying to find the right words, but felt confident enough that she’d understand him even if he bungled them. “I think...that when you're in a relationship with someone, especially a longer term one, you sort of invest things in them. Mostly time but also experiences. And you can’t always remember everything about yourself and your life, so you ‘deposit’ these pieces of yourself with someone else. And then if this someone stays in your life, you can access the pieces because they can recount the stories for you.”

“I think I see when you are goin’...I always get a kick out of hangin’ with old mates from school who remind me of things we got up to, things that I’d completely forgotten. And I do the same for them. Like we have different cuts of the same scene from a film. Usually we’ve forgotten our part for good reason but occasionally someone tells you somethin’ nice about yourself--somethin’ you did or you said that was wise or funny. It’s a sort of unexpected treasure.”

“Exactly that. So what I miss are the parts of myself that I’ve lost and of which she seems to be the only keeper. And clearly she has no use for them and most likely has discarded them.”

“Oh, I doubt she’d be able to forget you, Ross. And maybe today she got a _flash_ of just what she’s been missin?” She bit her lip and unsuccessfully tried to contain a snicker. “But seriously,” she then said, “Too bad you can't have a memory dump and a full exchange when you break up with someone. Like sending back old love letters--wasn’t that a thing in the old days?”

“True. I think when people claim they never get over old loves, it’s actually themselves--an older version of themselves--that they love, not the old partner. The person you were when you were with them. Younger or maybe just when you were a loved person. And you are always striving to get that part of yourself back, especially if you don’t feel love again.”

“And have you?”

“Felt love again? You seriously ask me that?”

“Okay, I know the answer,” she smiled. “Maybe love splits our souls. And then our lovers become horcruxes…”

“Is that...Cervantes?”

“Horcrux? No, Harry Potter again. Really you need to read those, Ross. Do you think it has somethin’ to do with acceptin’ our mortality?”

“Everything does, my dear. Do you think love splits the soul?”

“No, it enhances it. It should anyway.”

“You know what Plato says…” he began.

“Do I?” She raised her brow.

“Yes, when we’re reunited with our missing half we never want to lose them again. We’re made whole.”

“Well I don't believe that either. And I think that you have to accept yourself as already whole in order to be a good lover. I can't expect you to fix me or to ‘complete me’...”

“I expect you wouldn't like _that_ movie either,” he said proudly.

“Oh very good, Ross. You are surprisingly well-versed at romantic films.”

“For a man?”

“An _old_ man,” she teased.

“The shoe fits, I suppose.” he shrugged. “Speaking of souls... _‘Your soul is so uniquely and sublimely yours’...”_

“I don’t know that film,” she said.

“It isn't a film.”

“Oscar Wilde?” she guessed.

“No that’s you, Demelza.”

“What?” she stammered.

“And speaking of love letters…”

“Are you givin’ mine back?” she laughed.

“Never. I told you I carry them around with me,” he said.

“In the pocket of your waistcoat next to your flask? And do you reread them while you walk the moors? You too were born in the wrong century, Ross! You're like a...19th century Romantic!”

“No, I’m practical. I used them as bookmarks. Don’t be coy. Your words are brilliant,” he said.

“Well I give credit to my muse,” she smiled and squeezed his hand. “So is immortality what you want, Ross?”

“No, I want to be here with you _right now_. I’ve told you--or did you tell me--if we’ve learned anything from this whole ordeal, it's to appreciate the beauty of the present moment.”

“But Ross? What if the present isn’t beautiful? What if it’s tortuous and frightenin’?” she asked.

“Whoa! A moment ago I had you laughing…” He shook his head trying to read her.

“I’m not talkin’ about me--or about us--we came out of this just fine. We really did. I mean it’s easy to be one of these overly positive folks, smugly wearin’ your gratitude like a badge of honour, if you haven’t hit rock bottom. But for others--how do you appreciate the present when you just want it to be over?” 

“Are you saying we haven’t yet hit the depths of horror and despair--that there is always farther to fall?”

“Yes...”

“And so for that let us be grateful,” he laughed then shook his head again. “You’re so funny, Demelza.” He leaned closer and kissed her. “I never thought I’d be arguing from the side of optimism--certainly not against you.” 

\----

Coffee consumed, breakfast dishes cleared, newly laundered sheets hanging in the yard to dry in the sunshine, Trenwith Poldarks shut firmly out of mind. In all, a productive morning. 

It felt like they’d been up and about for hours but when Ross glanced at the wall clock he saw it was hardly a few minutes after nine o'clock.

He laughed then wondered when was the last time he’d truly had a grip on the passing of time. It was as though he'd never gotten over his jet lag from last March.

“Oh Ross!” Demelza cried as she emerged from the hallway. “It's finally happened to us--what we’ve been fearin’ for months and months!” 

“What is it?” he asked frantically, unable to understand why the brightness in her face failed to match her grim words. 

“We’re out of loo rolls!”

“Nonsense,” he sighed with relief. “There must be some...have you searched the house? There are hundreds of hidden cupboards here.”

“Oh I did, I found the good sheets by the way--and loads of spiders--but that’s all,” she laughed.

“You’re laughing? You find this funny?” He needed to verify her mood so that he could follow her lead.

“I do. It’s an inconvenience but we’ll think of somethin’. I’m sure your Nampara ancestors had all sorts of creative ways of wipin’ their bums!”

“Creative, yes, but unpleasant, no doubt.” he replied. “Well, we can avoid it no longer, my love. We’ll need to visit the shops straightaway.”

“And if they are out of toilet rolls?” she asked.

“Maybe back in March that might have happened but I sincerely doubt they’d have run out now. And if they have, I’ll ring Jane. Maybe she has a source.”

“Does she know your pirate friend?” she teased.

“In fact she does,” he chuckled.

“Forget the shoppin’--it’s absolutely brilliant outside.” She took his hand in hers. “Ross, you’ll recall you promised me a proper swim today.”

“Did I? So demanding, Miss Carne.” He went to swat her bottom but she scooted out of the way before he hit his mark. “Go change, and we’ll go down to the sea again.”

“I’ll be back in five minutes! You’d better be ready!” she sang and practically skipped from the room.

All was quiet for a moment and whilst standing there, in the old Nampara kitchen with a sunbeam willing its way through the grimy panes, Ross was struck with a tremendous sense of enlightenment. Yes, it was nothing less than that. Enlightenment and understanding and completion.

This was neither a beginning nor an end--he no longer saw time as so two-dimensional. He’d read somewhere that all existence was a cycle of difficulties to be met and obstacles to be surmounted. So it was true. There were certainly things that should have his attention--Grace Energy, the state of Nampara, his complicated relationship with his family, his ongoing worries about Demelza’s health--but these concerns were mere shadows that didn’t dare darken his contentment at that precise moment at 9:07 AM on June 19th, 2020. 

_I have all I ever want,_ he thought.

 _In the depths of despair I found Demelza and together we have found a love, a connection, a friendship few people know. Outside there is no wind and the sun has risen anew, and waiting for us at the sea, the waves are breaking against the shore under the immense sky, as they have for centuries and centuries._

_This is all I want._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many “Chekhov’s guns” in this story. Thank you for humouring me with a few more. ;)
> 
> Want to hear more about Plato as narrated by the most charmingly sexy Irish voice around? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDvMRvWjI9Q
> 
> Finally, I’m very very indebted to Winston Graham’s _Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall_. For starters, I played with this line, “In the depths of horror and despair, one comes to a new steadiness. There is no farther to fall.”
> 
> And the closing of this chapter is meant as a most humble and loving homage to the way Graham ends that book. In the Wardlock edition (with extra bits edited from later editions!), he writes of Ross:  
>  _“He was filled with a tremendous sense of enlightenment...a moment of enlightenment and understanding and completion._  
> ...He knew of things plucking at his attention, but they were not big enough to trespass on this contentment. They edged round him, shadows and shades. They must all in time be accepted and dealt with. In due course. Not now. Common sense told him that after these plain concerns, life would raise others of greater and lesser complexity in the weeks and years to come. All existence was a cycle of difficulties to be met and obstacles to be surmounted.  
> ...I have all I ever want..we have found together a companionship few people know. Just now there is no wind and the sun has set and the waves are breaking under the heavy sky…”
> 
> Thank you, Winston Graham!


	42. Epilogue-- WWJJD?

**Cornwall, Fifteen Months Later**

Ross Poldark squinted as the empty road ahead curved slightly west. The visor was already pulled down but not doing its job, so he held up one hand to shield his eyes until the position of the sun shifted again at the next bend. 

“Try these,” Demelza offered him her own sunglasses after watching his silent struggle. “Oh that’s a nice look on you, Ross,” she laughed. “You should always wear my things.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he smiled. The big amber shades made a difference and also gave everything a soft, almost rosy glow.

_Of course they did._

Past the wrought iron gates at the turn off to Killewarren, paved concrete soon gave way to gravel that crunched gently under the tires. Ross found that particular sound curious--depending on the destination it could be the sound of excitement, of long awaited arrivals, of pleasure to come. Or it could be the harbinger of anxiety, impending boredom, and even dread. He smiled, rather certain which of those options tonight would bring.

Someone, centuries ago, had strategically set the big house on a low hill. Its position showcased its elegance from afar but also offered its inhabitants an unparalleled view of the surrounding Cornwall countryside. Ross thought for a moment that it must be difficult to keep such a long drive that well-maintained. But then again it helped to have staff.

He laughed. That would never work at Nampara. It was hard enough keeping Demelza from still doing the housework they now hired out. If Ross was to employ groundskeepers, he could just imagine her making them tea or even picking up a spade and joining them in their labour.

Now he glanced over at the woman by his side. She was turned away from him, looking out her open window, but he suspected--he could feel--she was smiling. She hadn’t spoken for several minutes, seemingly transfixed by it all--the gloriously bright sky, the soft breeze, the green slopes.

So much had happened to them over the past year and a half, so much had changed. By all rights, she should have looked haggard and tired but instead she appeared as lovely and lively as the day he’d first met her. Cornwall living seemed to suit her. 

It suited them both.

As soon as Ross switched off the engine they were struck by the silence of the evening.

“This place is so peaceful,” Demelza sighed. 

“Even the birds here are restrained,” he laughed. “No doubt that’s on Caroline’s orders.”

He wondered if Dwight and Caroline ever tired of it, after living in the bustling city for so many years. The Enyses never spoke of regret, and like the Poldarks, they often acknowledged how much they had to be grateful for.

“Well, as much as I do enjoy visits with friends--they do pamper us--I’m always happy to come home to our own Nampara--unruly birds and all,” Demelza said as if reading Ross’s thoughts.

“We just got here. Are you ready to go home already?” he teased.

“Depends what the master has waitin’ for me,” she winked. “Okay, my love,” Demelza went on-- not waiting for his reply was a sort of counter-tease in itself. “Do you want to carry dessert or…” She looked over her shoulder but the infant seat behind her was rear-facing so she was unable to see its occupant. She listened carefully then tried to twist around to get a better view without upsetting the key lime pie she had on her lap.

“Well, well, it looks as though someone is still asleep!” Ross chuckled. “I told you this was a smooth ride.”

Almost a year before, during a sort of nesting period, they’d traded up vehicles from the Prius to something larger. The new Volvo was still a hybrid but supposedly safer and definitely more expensive. Ross had no qualms about the cost, for it was precious cargo they’d soon be hauling, but Demelza had initially voiced some reservations. 

“Are you really ready for this, Ross? Don’t you think it’s a bit staid? Predictable? This car just screams ‘married country dad’!” 

“And I am, proudly, all those things--or will be soon. Would you rather I buy a sports car and commence my mid life crisis?” he’d joked. 

“Ross, there's space for a whole rugby team in the back!”

“Not rugby--this little one’s bound to be a footballer.”

“Yes, that she is,” Demelza had laughed and put her hand to her rounding belly. “She’s a kicker anyway. She never really stops movin’ and don’t expect she’ll stop once she’s here.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Ross had pointed out.

In the end, Demelza had relented on the purchase of the car and by winter she had to admit that it handled well on ice and on the muddy tracks around Nampara that passed for roads. Since she was the one who drove it most days, it quickly became referred to as “Demelza’s car.”

Tonight though, she’d allowed Ross to do the driving.

“Why don’t you carry the pie, since it’s your glorious creation,” Ross said. “Then again, I suppose you made our _other_ glorious creation as well…”

“I had a little help with that one,” she laughed. “Okay, but if she wakes, we can switch…”

“She won’t wake,” Ross said confidently then stepped out of the car to better attend his daughter. In one smooth gesture, his experienced hands unfastened the seat from its base and lifted it out. His charge moved her little mouth slightly, but otherwise remained asleep.

“Garrick or no Garrick?” he asked looking at the old stuffed dog lying on the back seat.

“Leave him and her diaper bag for now. If we need them we can come out and get them. Tonight we travel light,” she laughed.

“I wouldn't call her light. Come, my love,” he said to his wife and watched her as she stepped out of the car. 

Ross smiled to himself, vaguely remembering a daydream from a different lifetime. He’d only just met Demelza but he’d imagined bringing her to the Enyses’ for dinner--so simple a wish but back then it had seemed an impossibility. Of course, since they’d all made Cornwall their permanent home, Ross and Demelza had been to the Enys country home many times. Ross was aware he was living his dreams now.

The evening was especially warm, unusual for mid September. Summer was lingering on, ‘as if fond of its own perfection’. That was how Ross’s father had once described such unseasonable warmth--but these past years it was more aptly attributed to climate change. 

And since it was so lovely a night, the plan was they’d all stay out in the marvelous Killewarren garden. They still dined al fresco with friends whenever they could, a social habit formed in more trying times that they’d never really abandoned. 

Demelza was wearing her favourite linen sundress and as they entered the low front gate Ross gently put his hand to her bare back, leading the way. She’d been thrilled she could fit into her old clothes again but in truth she’d shed her baby weight quite quickly. Perhaps it was because she was always moving and never still, or maybe she was just one of those lucky women. 

This evening her hair was up, exposing her exquisite neck. Ross lost his battle with his own restraint and gave it a quick peck before anyone opened the door.

“Careful, Ross,” she smiled, gingerly holding her pie aloft and glancing with protective love towards the car seat he deftly toted with one strong hand. 

“I told you I won’t wake her.” Ross looked down at his sleeping daughter again. Demelza had tucked a blanket around her before they left Nampara, but it had since been kicked away. 

Long pink socks that were supposed to reach her chubby knees had slipped down. The left one had made it as far as her heel and threatened to come off with the next kick from those powerful little legs. Soft fuzz had started to develop in one long stripe along the top of her head and now stood straight up--no curls yet but it was clear from its dark colour that she favoured her father.

She’d been dressed in a long sleeved onesie, a special gift from her Aunt Verity, that naturally meant more to the little girl’s parents than to her. Despite being all white it had somehow managed to stay clean, even after hours of drooling. In bold black letters across the front it read: _What Would Joan Jett Do?_

Ross’s most indulgent daydreams had never included a child and yet here she was. He could not have imagined such happiness nor such a powerful love than that a parent feels for their child. Almost every day he recalled the prescient words Demelza had spoken so long ago--it was the greatest terror ever, to risk your heart, to love that much, but worth it all the same.

There were times he didn’t think he could have had a hand in creating someone so perfect and other times he quaked at the urgent terror of needing to make the world a better place for her. 

And since that frosty February morning when she’d arrived a few weeks earlier than expected, Miss Julia Grace Poldark liked to remind her parents that while she might be part of that ancient family, she had her own demands, her own desires, and her own timetable.

So tonight as her parents were in the mood to socialise, she was firmly ensconced in an unscheduled nap. Ross regretted that she wasn’t awake to interact with their friends--he loved to show her off and show the world off to her--but he had to admit it would make adult conversation easier if she stayed asleep.

\---

It was Dwight who greeted them at the door and even though Demelza had been a part of Ross’s life for some time now, each time they met, Dwight still sent his friend a quick glance of approval that he’d managed to find--and keep--such a lovely partner. 

“Caroline and Sarah are on the veranda. Come on through the house,” Dwight welcomed them. “And how is my favourite Poldark?” he cooed, then leaning close he saw the baby sleeping and shushed himself. “Do you want to keep her indoors while she’s asleep?” he whispered. “We can have Dumitra, our au pair, mind her?”

“Oh no need to whisper, Dwight, this one would sleep through a rock concert. And no, she’ll be fine out with us,” Demelza replied. “Let’s all enjoy the sunshine as long as we can.”

“Julia’s a little country girl,” Ross said. “It will take more than a bit of breeze to upset her.” The idea that his father would have approved of such a hearty baby flashed through his mind, and not for the first time. 

“Have you seen those videos of Siberian school children playing in the snow?” Dwight asked as they walked through the impressive main hallway towards the veranda that spanned the entire west side of the house. 

“Yes! And in their underwear, no less,” Demelza laughed. “It’s adorable. And reminds us we’re all capable of withstanding far more than we think.”

“Is that the plan for your kindergarten classroom come winter?” Dwight asked her.

“Well, we’re not quite a forest school--our toilets are still inside the building--but we do maximize outdoor learnin’ as much as we can,” Demelza explained. “And the plan is to continue to do so even when the weather turns colder. The children love it.”

Demelza beamed at the chance to talk about her new job. The previous year she’d completed her teacher training at a kindergarten in Truro, and had since been offered a full time position at the same school. Ross hadn’t been surprised--of course they’d seize her up once they’d worked with her. The autumn term had just started, and so far, being a full time working parent had suited Demelza well--or as she said more than once, “It suits me _well enough_ , Ross. That’s all we can ask for.” 

“If the kids are happy I imagine that goes a long way,” Dwight said.

“Oh, it’s everythin’!” 

“And their parents are happy too, I trust?” It was less an actual question and more a hint of Dwight’s estimation of Demelza’s professional skill.

“Of course they are. They have the best staff and they know it,” Ross said proudly.

“Well, I was lucky to get the position, bein’ just recently qualified,” she added modestly. “And I’m not lead teacher…”

“Not yet,” Dwight said. “If what Ross tells me is true, then in a few years, you'll be running the place.”

“Ross!” she hissed, but he saw she was smiling. 

“Hopefully that will be the case by the time Sarah is in school. Be kind to her, Mrs. Poldark--she most likely won’t stay in uniform. In fact, we can never keep her in clothes at all these days.”

“Poor Caroline,” Demelza laughed. “I imagine she finds that a bit frustratin’?”

“Yes, it tugs at her two greatest instincts. She wants to oblige our daughter’s whims and nurture her free-spirit but she also wants to keep her dressed in the most darling frocks,” Dwight laughed.

“Well, let her be free while she can,” Demelza sighed. 

They rarely spoke of the possibility of future lockdowns but it remained at the back of their minds all the same. Maybe some day the worry would leave them entirely or maybe their generation would always bear these scars.

“Free is one thing. Feral is another. But we’ve insisted she dress for dinner tonight, which means _at least_ a nappy,” Dwight chuckled.

“I can take that, Mrs. Poldark.” A woman came up behind them that Ross recognised as a longtime Killewarren servant, but whose name he never knew.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” Demelza smiled and carefully handed over the pie.

 _Of course she’d remember the name of anyone she’d met, even someone’s else’s housekeeper._ Ross felt a flicker of gratitude towards his wife for this. He always found it easier to be out in public with Demelza’s natural warmth and charm to lead the way. 

“It’s probably best kept chilled until after dinner and I’ll need to whip the cream right before we serve it--Caroline assured me you had some, so I didn’t bring any. Shall I help you in the kitchen?” Demelza asked, but before she could hear Eleanor’s emphatic ‘no’, she was ambushed by a little blonde creature with a jam-smeared face and sticky hands.

Dwight had called it--the toddler was naked but for her nappy.

Sarah Enys was just a year old--her birthday had been earlier that month--and was an active and playful little thing. She was tall for her age and very slender, despite her voracious appetite for anything sweet. She had not just been walking but running, and even climbing, since she was nine months. In addition to being very mobile, she’d recently begun to string her babble together in a manner that was almost recognisable to ears other than those of her doting parents.

“Dee-do!!” she shrieked when she saw Demelza.

“Well, hello, Sarah, my darlin’! You’ve had a jam tart, haven’t you?’ Demelza crouched down and examined the tiny hands that Sarah Enys held out for her to see. “Num num num!” Demelza pretended to lick the little fingers and was met with a torrent of giggles.

“Sarah Enys, you precious monster! Hands up at once, and by all means keep away from Demelza’s lovely white dress,” Caroline chirped to her daughter who reluctantly obeyed but only because she seemed to consider it a great game. 

“ _Mulțumesc_ , Dumitra,” Dwight said to the very young-looking au pair who seemed to appear out of nowhere to attend to the girl. Sarah still held her hands above her head whilst she awaited further orders from her mother, but allowed them to be wiped.

“Really! Who would think of giving a child a jam tart before dinner?” Caroline rolled her eyes and appeared to be shocked, but no one present was convinced by her act. They all knew how indulgent Caroline could be with her child and her pets. “She didn’t actually get you did she?” she said to Demelza in a low voice that betrayed some actual worry. 

“No, she’s just havin’ fun,” Demelza assured her. “And it looks like Horace is enjoyin’ himself too!” The circling pug stopped his sniffing and began to lick any remaining traces of jam from Demelza’s legs.

“Horace, that’s enough,” Dwight said firmly but with zero result. Demelza gingerly pushed the dog away. Only after she’d given him a conciliatory pet, did she take a seat next to Caroline.

“Ross, you look handsome as ever. Air kiss,” Caroline called to Ross from across the veranda. She was already pouring Demelza a glass of wine, confident Dwight would attend to Ross.

“Ju Ju! Mine!” Sarah declared and scampered over to the car seat placed at Ross’s feet.

“No, no, Julia belongs to her mummy and daddy,” Caroline explained.

“No, mine!” Sarah insisted. This time she began to sit down, trying to squeeze in next to the sleeping Poldark baby and made it clear it was the car seat, not the child, she wanted in her possession.

“Uh uh,” Ross laughed and gently used his broad hand to catch Sarah before she crushed his daughter.

“Don’t tell her she’s too big for it or she’ll double down to prove you otherwise,” Dwight said. 

“Oh Sarah, my love, you don’t want _that_ seat!” Demelza came closer and again knelt down to the little girl’s eye level. “See? She’s all buckled in? She’s stuck but you get to run, don’t you?” she said to the girl in an attempt to redirect her. 

Sarah responded by stamping her feet to show her how vigorously she could move. 

“Oh you’re a dancer, aren’t you?” Demelza encouraged.

“Kiss?” Sarah now asked Demelza, pointing to Julia, who despite the stomping and squealing and near squashing, remained asleep.

“Erm…” Caroline shot Demelza a look, uncertain if such close contact would be permissible. Those sorts of gestures, once casually thrown around with strangers, were still reserved for only those most dear.

Demelza nodded her consent then burst into laughter when instead of bending to kiss Julia’s cheek, Sarah put her little foot on the baby’s belly.

“Sarah!” Dwight chided with horror.

“Oh, a foot kiss, eh?” Demelza laughed, then scooped Sarah up and returned to her chair next to Caroline. “You need a foot kiss too, then!” Demelza kissed the bottom of Sarah’s foot, which proved a bit ticklish. As expected, more giggles ensued and the little girl was effectively distracted.

Ross took a drink from his beer and sighed. He felt warm and content and relaxed. These were not unfamiliar feelings for him but every now and then he still felt the shock anew when he paused and just allowed himself to be happy.

He loved watching his wife with Sarah. Demelza was good with most children--she’d already proven that--and she seemed to have more patience for the little imp than either Enys parent. It was the fruition of her studies and her professional experience, even if her natural warmth disguised the clinical precision of her interactions. 

But when Demelza held her own child, that was something else entirely. With Julia she was unscripted, and she vibrated with an extraordinary love--strange yet perfect. They had a connection that Ross could see and feel but never describe with words. He wouldn’t dare call it instinct; time and time again Demelza had laughed and declared “I really don’t know what I’m doin’, Ross.” But whatever the source of her impulses--head, heart, or gut--they seemed to work.

Ross looked forward to watching his daughter grow up under such steady guidance and unwavering love. He might not yet have confidence in the world’s future but he’d never had as much confidence in another being as he had in Demelza.

The day he’d walked in on her cleaning his kitchen had been the luckiest day of his life.

\---

Killewarren was further inland than Nampara, but the distinctive blood-orange brilliance of a seaside sunset was still visible on the distant horizon. The sun was moving swiftly in its journey--it wouldn’t be long until it dipped out of view entirely and the glorious warmth of the evening would fade as well.

They’d finished their supper of blackened Worcestershire fillet and chilled chervil and pea soup. Every mouthful of Eleanor’s menu was delightful. Still, Ross thought he preferred Demelza’s cooking to anyone’s. Now he was looking forward to her pie.

“Are you cold, my love?” He thought he saw Demelza shiver. “I can get your sweater from the car…”

“No, I’m fine,” she said and he trusted she was telling the truth. In a few minutes Dwight would switch on the heater lamps but the party would be breaking up soon. Since both families had small children, neither were in the habit of staying out late anymore.

“Your latest Grace Energy Instagram post was stunning, as always, Ross,” Caroline said while they waited for Eleanor to bring out dessert.

“ _My_ post?” he laughed. “I just approve them--it’s Demelza who takes the photos. But apparently it has helped our _visibility_.” 

“How do you find the time to be Ross’s PR magician?” Dwight asked Demelza. “While also working full time and parenting?”

“Oh that? It’s nothin’,” she smiled. “It started as a laugh really. I just take a few snaps of pretty country things--and there are no shortage of those around us--and slap on the hashtags #Everyday Grace #Everyday Energy! Takes me less than five minutes to throw one together but if it helps to keep Grace viable for Julia to take over some day--if she chooses--then it’s five minutes well spent!”

“ _If_ she chooses,” Ross said. 

“How very generous of you. I’ve already made it 100% clear to Sarah that she’ll need to be a doctor like her daddy. Then she’ll be a superhero,” Caroline shot Dwight a look of adoration. Despite her cool exterior, Caroline did let her guard down around the Poldarks, especially when it came to pronouncements of love for her husband. “Teachers are heroes too, of course,” she added quickly.

“To heroes,” Ross raised his glass in a toast. Both Demelza and Dwight seemed embarrassed but managed to smile at the gesture.

“This pie looks brilliant,” Caroline gushed as Eleanor laid a plate in front of her at the table. “Where on earth did you find key limes?”

“This time it was Tesco, not old Poldark connections,” Demelza winked. “Though Ross does have a source for everythin’...well almost everythin’...”

“It seems everything except a new mattress,” Ross half laughed, half grumbled. The memory of that failure still irked him. 

“But isn’t that how you got your new refrigerator, Ross?” Caroline asked. “Through someone your father used to work with?”

“Yes, sometimes these _sources_ do come through,” Ross explained. “When our old refrigerator died, we’d been told we’d be on a waiting list for six months for a new one.”

“Six months?! What would you have done?” Caroline gasped.

“Luckily it happened in winter so we could keep our milk in the yard--it was no worse than campin’,” Demelza replied. Of course she’d seen it as an adventure.

“But my father had had a friend…” Ross continued.

 _“_ And by friend you mean _fixer?”_ Dwight raised his brow.

 _“_ Let’s just call him an _acquaintance…_ anyway, he knew the right people and came through us for a new refrigerator,” Ross said.

“Oh and it’s glorious--far larger than I’d have ever chosen,” Demelza added. “To think, this one would take up half the kitchen in our old flat!”

“Yet this same _friend_ never managed to find you a new mattress?” Caroline asked.

“Well, not one to Ross’s genteel likin’ anyway,” Demelza smiled. 

“It’s not because I’m a gentleman. On the contrary, my love. Physical labour has made my back temperamental,” Ross objected.

“Labour? Ross, you’re an executive!” Dwight sputtered, almost choking on his beer.

“No, no, Dwight. Ross still goes on site rather often. And you forget, Ross did a lot of the rebuildin’ of Nampara by himself.” Demelza defended her husband. 

Ross appreciated that his wife was very judicious in her own teasing of him and seemed to prefer to do so privately. They weren’t one of those couples who put each other down in front of others for a laugh or who bickered publicly. 

“Besides,” she said with a bright smile, “the failed search for a good mattress worked to our advantage. It was the final factor in our decision to stay in Cornwall permanently.”

“Yes, believe it or not, it was easier to hire removers and get the entire contents of the flat sent here than to buy a new mattress,” Ross explained. “But I suppose with everyone stuck at home, there was a renewed interest in household goods, thus the delays.” 

“It was a global foam shortage,” Dwight said.

“I read it was springs too--and the fabric used to wrap them in,” Demelza added. 

“Add a second lockdown and uncertain international trade relationships--it was a perfect storm really,” Dwight said. 

Ross noticed his friend’s grey eyes went dark for a moment. He hoped Dwight wasn’t fretting about future crises. No doubt there was more this monstrous world had to throw at them. And these shadows must all in time be accepted and dealt with. In due course. But not tonight.

“Mattresses aside, have you been sleeping well?” Caroline asked, nodding towards the tiny Poldark still asleep in her seat at Ross’s feet.

“Yes, yes we are. Our little friend is quite considerate of her hard working parents,” Ross said proudly. He tenderly stroked his daughter’s leg and then her cheek. Right now she was soft and slumped but Ross knew she could be fiercely strong when she wanted to show off her developing muscle strength. Unable to resist the urge for a cuddle, he reached down and quietly unfastened the straps that held Julia’s little body safely in position. 

“Ross?” Dwight raised a questioning brow. “Mate, you know you’re playing with fire…”

Again Ross demonstrated his experience at such deft moves, and was able to scoop the baby up quickly and smoothly. He settled her against his chest and wrapped the blanket around them both. 

Ross traced the dark fuzz on her head with his nose and lips, whispering softly. Without opening her eyes, she snuggled against him, seeming to recognise his voice, his smell, his protective embrace.

It was a procedure he’d perfected over the past few months as he took an active role in parenting and attempted to work from home. He’d gotten quite good at holding the baby--awake or asleep--in the crook of his arm and typing with one hand only. And she'd quickly become a favourite guest at Grace Energy zoom meetings. Of course it would be more difficult when she grew more mobile, but Ross knew to enjoy this stage whilst it lasted.

Dwight laughed at the two of them, father and daughter, caught up in each other, seemingly oblivious to the other company on the veranda. 

But Ross knew Demelza didn’t begrudge him this moment. She could have a few more minutes of adult conversation and she’d have her own turn at baby cuddles when they got home. 

“I told you she was a good sleeper,” Demelza said with a smile, confident the present company could recognise this as a most admirable quality in an eight month old baby. “Of course she’ll probably sleep through our entire visit but wake just as we get back to Nampara--and then demand to be entertained all night.” She took another sip of wine then nodded when Caroline offered her some more from the near-empty bottle.

“Oh we’re familiar with that routine,” Dwight laughed. “You might get a few quiet hours out but you’ll pay later in spades.”

“Sarah used to scream bloody murder whenever she rode in the car. Most babies are lulled by a drive but not our child,” Caroline said.

“To be fair, my dear, it was only in the dark that she’d cry so,” Dwight corrected his wife. “So it was always on the way home from somewhere. Still that made it rather unpleasant for the driver.”

“And any passengers,” Caroline added. “And anyone within a two mile radius.”

“She still has those healthy lungs but recently has developed the good sense to use her quiet tears to tug at her parents’ heartstrings,” Dwight said.

“It’s rather impressive, especially her pout. She’s very precocious for her age, I believe,” Caroline laughed. “Just wait until your little one perfects the art of emotional manipulation, Ross.”

“Oh she’s already got Ross wrapped around her pudgy little fingers,” Demelza laughed. “And I believe she knows what she’s doin’...she doesn’t try half her tricks on me.”

Ross chuckled. Despite Demelza’s insistence that she wasn’t fooled by Julia’s games, he knew her to be enthralled by their daughter.

“ _Oh Ross, I think I love her too much,_ ” she often said to him. Both Poldark parents were completely besotted.

“Yes, well, I’ve no complaints,” Ross said now to the Enyses but also to the fuzzy-headed baby cuddled against his chest.

 _“We_ have no complaints,” Demelza said softly.

“Deedo-dee?” Sarah, still wide awake, put her hand on Demelza’s cheek. It was not only her name for Demelza but a request for one of their favourite shared songs.

Ross watched Demelza as a smile spread across her face. She rubbed the child’s fluffy blonde head then began to sing, mischievously and in a playfully deep voice:

_"There was an old couple and they was poor,_

_Tweedle, tweedle, go twee..”_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played a bit with this classic line “Autumn lingered on as if fond of its own perfection,” from Winston Graham’s _Ross Poldark, A Novel of Cornwall_. Ross pondering how to accept that the monstrous world might next throw at them was taken from the Wardlock Edition of that same book (“they must all in time be accepted and dealt with. In due course. Not now.”) Demelza’s song at the end is also from the ending of that edition.
> 
> Also Demelza declaring she loves Julia too much or Ross fretting about making the world a better place for his perfect daughter--sigh--that’s all Debbie Horsfield goodness from S1.5. (Was either in the book? I need to go check).
> 
> There’s a shred of superstitious-ness in me that worries about writing a hopeful healthy future that we haven't yet seen and that seems further away today as I post this, than it did months ago. But this story has been all about hope, so why stop now?
> 
> And I don’t personally believe one has to be married with babies to live happily ever after, but that was Winston Graham’s template so I went for it here. In a brief moment of wickedness, I considered an ending in which Demelza was only ever a fever-inspired dream of Ross as he isolated alone, but in the end decided that was wildly inconsiderate to the kind folks who’d been reading this tale for a bit of escape. And I’d never be able to pull that off.  
> \----  
> This fic started on a whim from a prompt I read on tumblr one Saturday morning back in March. Most of the plot I sketched out in my head while I waited for my bulk coffee order--I remember wondering if it was going to be the last time I ever went out to a grocery store. As the story progressed, it was poorly managed, and throughout, the pace/sense of passing time was never consistent. But that’s sort of like everything these past eleven months, no? I certainly wasn’t planning on this growing so long but writing it became an important distraction for me, an indulgence most days. Some spots read almost like a journal of what we were thinking, what we were reading, how we were feeling.
> 
> I do have some regrets that Demelza got sick in this story. I know I was led to do so because WG had given us that plotline when his Demelza contracts putrid throat, but I see that was hard for some readers, and at many times afterwards, I felt I had no business treading there. And I wish my research of how this cursed plague might be experienced hadn’t included first-hand accounts from people close to me who contracted it or saw it daily (my nephew, my cousin, several friends, the wife of a friend who is an EMT).
> 
> My sincerest hope is that someday soon this story will feel so irrelevant and we can forget it was ever written. That we’ll scoff when looking back on it, dismissing it for scientific flaws (there were things we didn't yet know back in March!) and its naivety.
> 
> But until such a time, thanks so very much once again for reading and keeping me company these many months. Be safe, my friends! 
> 
> PS: I’m nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to continue the conversation!


End file.
